Foreign Affairs
by gingermusicalphan
Summary: Languishing in a loveless marriage an ocean away from home, Angelica Schuyler just needs something to remind her that her life can be so much more than it has become. When she meets Thomas Jefferson during her stay in Paris, can he be just the cure she needs? Or will arrogance, familial loyalty and the unbreakable bonds of marriage stand in their way?
1. Prologue

**A/N: Welcome to my latest literary endeavour, you lovely reader! Here we have a Jeffergelica story featuring the Angel herself, big TJeffs, Hamtheman, Laf-a-minute, and even Maria Cosway the Italian painter who was friendly with both halves of the ship in this story. The majority of this will occur as a flashback, and just to warn you, although this is inspired by historical events, I change the time and dates to suit me. Special thanks to Minniemora for always helping me to improve my writing amongst countless other things, and also to iiMalloryRoseii and a guest named Brie for encouraging me to follow this plot. Thanks for clicking on this, please let me know what you think!**

 **(Edit: Thanks to the guest squid pro quo, any feedback is hugely appreciated, and I've edited this a bit based on your advice to make it less blocky!)**

* * *

 _ **Prologue**_

 _ **September 1797**_

The September sun had thrown a warm glow over the Hamilton household during the day, but now the night had come, the only light within the house came from candles, which happened to be a scarcity in a home where the mistress had been rendered incapable of completing the organizational duties which ordinarily fell to her. They cast a sombre ochre gleam over any surface within reach, yet provided little warmth despite appearances, therefore neglecting to thaw a certain heart, turned to ice after decades of careless management and consequential fractures, and leaving it as solid as granite.

However, that did not mean that the organ in question was frozen into a cool, passive silence, rather it meant that it pounded with an ominous, cold fury, like a drum roll just prior to an execution, aggressively pumping liquid rage through the body and instinctively oxygenating muscles in preparation for a fight, the automatic reflex to retaliate with brutal venom crushing any hesitant fraction of her soul which longed instead to flee the situation in it's entirety rather than go to battle with one of the few men who might feasibly constitute a worthy opponent.

After all, _flight_ was not an option Angelica Schuyler Church was willing to entertain for even a moment when her own dear sister's heart had been broken.

The woman could have been legitimately mistaken for a snake as she stood in her brother in law's office, towering above him as he slumped in his seat, the image of defeat. If Angelica was a cobra, with palpable poison dripping from her mouth whenever she spoke, hissing and spitting vile curses to him as she drew ever closer, the trembling of her voluptuous curls as anger seized her entire body and caused her to shake mimicking the way the reptilian hood would flare so as to mesmerize her target, Alexander was a lame rat, obviously inferior to the impressive predator and completely aware that he could never even hope to deflect the hail of blows she would rain down on him, yet simultaneously knowing that he lacked the ability to flee her omnipotence, too damaged to so much as dream of retiring to someplace safe and peaceful; he was left with the single option of accepting the punishments she would lavish upon him copiously, and praying that she would be swift when she metaphorically dispatched him.

The powerful woman was not feeling quite as merciful as he would have liked, following his unscrupulous treatment of Elizabeth Schuyler Hamilton, however, as she landed strike after strike on the tattered remnants of his pride and arrogance, where she knew it would cause him the most pain:

"I can honestly say without a shadow of a doubt that it is the most ridiculous thing I have ever heard, and I have listened to a _lot_ of fools propose schemes so blatantly idiotic that I have had to be sympathetic for them and their stupidity in my time, Alexander. I never thought _you_ , of all people, would sink so low as to invent a new kind of stupid, and for that I suppose I should congratulate you for surprising me."

She was physically incapable of containing her rage within one location, causing her to pace the length of the room. She continued in the cycle of approaching the defenceless man before retreating and easing his nerves slightly, before frightening him once more as she whirled around and stomped towards him again, her scowl growing even more disgusted and her footsteps increasing in volume with every length she took.

But despite all of that, the thing which caused Hamilton to flinch as if physically struck was the fact that she growled his name like a curse, the name _Alexander_ which had once sounded so tantalizing when coming from her lips transformed into something bitter and revolting which she had to spit out due to the vile taste. But how could he blame her, when he himself shared her loathing of his actions? The only difference between them was that he knew his own version of events and he continued to believe he had no choice but to betray her sister, and while for him that allowed a level of chagrined acceptance to replace his inner self-hatred, his sister's lack of comprehension left her unable to forgive. Submitting to her, he meekly murmured, "I know, Angelica."

"And do you also _know_ that this is a damage which can never be undone? Because it seems to me that you failed to think this through at all, as if you had paused for even a heartbeat, you would have seen that and recognized that everything you had - your family, your children and your wife and your sisters - was infinitely more precious than the career you have sacrificed us to preserve." Her voice trembled now, her anguish daring to make itself known before a further surge of rage swiftly crushed it and she continued, "Now you can never recover what you tossed aside: it is far too late."

Again, simply, "I know, Angelica." Thick, heavy, carrying the weight of scarcely suppressed tears.

Still she was not done: for years, so much had gone unsaid between them, there had been so much that she hadn't dared to confess for the sake of her sister. But now she was free to unleash more of herself onto Hamilton than she had ever dared before, and although she had never dreamed that releasing her internal stream of heartfelt confessions to him would be so aggressive, she found she could not stop until she was satisfied that he knew precisely how deep her feelings for him were.

She had just hoped that the feelings she harboured for him would never be so ferocious. She was ruthless as she pointed out, "It was already too late to salvage your bond to your family the instant you found solace in another woman's bed, and now there is no hope for you whatsoever. Your writing can't save you any more, _dear brother."_

She touched a nerve when she spoke of the futility of his writing. She knew this, and yet she said it anyway. The only justification Hamilton could deduce was that she was intentionally attempting to provoke a response, and feeling threatened, he was happy to oblige. "My writing allowed me to be honest to my wife about a mistake made years ago. Much as I hate that I have caused my Eliza such agony, I can not regret writing my pamphlet." The adrenaline from his argument gave him the courage to meet the fiery furnaces of Angelica's gaze, something he immediately regretted when he felt his skin swelter under the heat.

Still, he foolishly continued, "Plenty of men do whatever they please, and never confess their guilt. Though I admit a completely guiltless life would be preferable, at least I have ended several years of lies by writing my account of -"

The loud slam of Angelica's palms meeting the wood of his desk cut him off, causing the words to wither and die on his lips. His temporary courage was gone as fast as it had arrived, although he still maintained eye contact with his fuming sister. She was completely still, save for her hands as she gradually dug her nails further and further into the oak, needing to feel something within her grasp to refrain from strangling the man - he _was_ still married to her sister, after all.

She visibly had to struggle to cling on to her composure as she replied in a silky, threatening murmur, "So _now_ you choose to defend yourself... How fitting that you should argue the logic behind your _writing_ rather than argue that you still have a chance to salvage your _marriage_." There was unmistakable disappointment in her dark eyes, but when she blinked, it was gone. Years of wearing a mask had made her adept at concealing what she perceived to be weaknesses, so there was only unwavering conviction as she responded directly to Hamilton's last comment, "Do you want to know why a plethora of men, your friend Mr Jefferson, for example, can do precisely what they want regarding matters such as this?" She succeeded at hiding a blush as she recalled how she knew for certain that Thomas Jefferson had engaged in something similar to that which had been disclosed in Hamilton's Pamphlet, proceeding with increasing volume and reduced composure after nothing more than a customary pause, "He doesn't dignify the sort of infantile taunts which drove you to reveal all with a response!"

"And does that excuse his behaviour?" Hamilton queried, timid in the certainty that he could not win, but genuinely curious as to any alternative which she would have viewed as preferable to the route he took. "You say the likes of Jefferson can do as they like, so would you rather I had simply remained silent, like him? As if protecting Eliza's oblivious bliss would have made the situation any better?"

Seething, Angelica practically bared her teeth in a grimace as she leaned closer towards his face and scornfully declared, "This situation would be made _better_ if my sister had never married a man who would ever do something to threaten her bliss whatsoever!"

"But she did, there is no way of escaping that fact no matter how much you may wish otherwise," Alexander replied, slowly raising to his feet if only to have an excuse to pull away from her wrath slightly, "so I am asking you if there is any way I could have eased her suffering. If there is anything I could have done - or could still do - to alter her pain." His sister paused, considering it before reaching a conclusion which he had already known to be true.

He shook his head forlornly as he confirmed, "Precisely. No amount of mimicking my rival's tendency to remain silent would have spared my darling wife from the torturous humiliation she has had to endure. It would have come out eventually anyway - rumours only grow." He shook his head, regret reflected in the way his body retained its hunched shape despite having stood up. "I tried, I promise you. There was nothing else I could have done."

"At least that way, my dear sister would not have known heartbreak," Angelica retorted, an automatic reflex reaction; Unbeknownst to him, he was criticizing the very approach which had kept word of her own affair from public attention. Yet she was determined not to concern herself too excessively over that comparatively trivial matter. Besides, he was correct when he said that it would not excuse the fact that he had strayed.

Angelica released her grip on the desk and tossed her head back, closing her eyes as another wave of disappointment at his idiotic arrogance washed over her. She breathed deeply, and paused before freeing the air from her lungs, allowing it first to cleanse her wrought spirit. When she exhaled, it was with the utterance of phrase she had repeated several times throughout the duration of her slander, "You could have stayed out of another woman's bed."

Hamilton returned to his seat, scraping it along the wooden floor as he collapsed clumsily into it. "I know, Angelica."

She turned away from him, seeing that he was equally as disappointed by his own actions as she was. _Yet that doesn't mean he deserves sympathy_ , she decided, _remorseful or not, he still shattered my Eliza_. Even so, it would have been far easier to berate him if he could do anything but agree with her. "Stop saying that," she instructed impatiently, albeit with a slight stammer. Her face was hidden from him for the time being, allowing her to show the true sorrow she felt although it compromised the strength of her words. "You claim to know so much, and yet..."

 _And yet you still managed to tear my sister's beautiful, radiant heart from her chest?_

 _You still couldn't see that you had everything you ought to need to be satisfied?_

 _You still didn't anticipate the dreadful consequences of your pamphlet?_

 _You still expect me to be somewhat forgiving towards you, because_ poor defenceless Alexander _has gone through so much, and his wrist has a slight ache after writing all ninety six pages of his pamphlet?_

She bitterly realized she could not select the most appropriate ending for that sentence.

In his own state of distraction, he would have missed the tiny indicator of her personal sadness in her shaking voice. But even in it's numbed state, his perceptive mind registered the hand she brought to her face, the way she viciously swept it across her cheek as though she detested the emotion shown in the tear she had shed as much as she evidently loathed the man who made her so upset. She may not be capable of pity, but he was, for he had always been prone to presenting a gentler demeanour towards a damsel in distress.

Though it caused his chest to ache with the effort of uttering something more than a few syllables, he offered a distraction from the topic which currently tormented them both. His attempt was somewhat tactless, however, as he asked the first question which came to mind, a matter he was honestly confused over rather than some harmless query, "One thing I do not know is this: why is it that you are so defensive of Jefferson's romantic endeavours and the lengths he goes to in order to guard his privacy? I would assume you were simply arguing in his favour for the sake of opposing me, but for the fact that I know you are above such childishness." _That along with the fact that you don't need to pretend to believe in anything in order to criticize me. You are perfectly talented at finding a ceaseless stream of insults and arguments without copying those already made by some other rival of mine._

She whipped around to face him again, all trace of sadness gone. Which was a slight relief to Hamilton, although the renewed surge of fire in her gaze indicated that his prying question had stepped on forbidden territory. Her voice was a low growl as she insisted emphatically, "That is _not_ an enquiry you are entitled to make, Alexander. The reasons are mine alone." His eyes narrowed in suspicion at her fervent response, and she swiftly defended herself, "You can not distract me from Elizabeth's grief by tossing your irrelevant enquiries at me."

If anything, her obfuscation only heightened his desire to learn the truth of a few offhand remarks he had heard over a few years. She had been furious before the question, and she would likely be furious after he was done.

So, unable to resist and able to justify it with the decision that seeing unbridled aggression mar the perfection of her usually placid, beautiful face was far more tolerable than heart-wrenching sorrow, he took the fleeting opportunity to press, "Jefferson told me you had met, during your time in France."

"There are plenty of respectable people in France, many of whom I socialized with at some point," she insisted dismissively. "And you are still avoiding -"

"He told me you had been close, taunted me with it, even." He had risked saying too much to possibly be shunned into silence by her venomous glare, so he continued, "Was he being honest?" His sister folded her arms over her chest, closing him out or maybe urging her heart to stop fluttering at the mere mention of Jefferson's talking about her. She had clearly resolved to ignore him until he allowed the matter to drop.

Nevertheless, he continued to offer an opportunity to answer at least one of his invasive questions, "Did you favour him to your brother?"

"Do you honestly think there is a single person on Earth I don't favour over you at this point in time?" She snapped, shattering her silence with such sudden speed that Alexander felt almost as though her words had landed upon him with the force of a slap.

He blinked, momentarily stunned, which gave her all the opportunity she required to fully close down his investigation. "You are undeserving of my time and energy, and you are completely unworthy of prying into matters which don't concern you." She began to walk away, determined that she would not waste a single precious second more that ought to be spent with her sister on berating her treacherous brother.

"Is that all you're going to tell me about Jefferson, then?" Hamilton called after her, no longer even pretending that he was trying to save her from the torturous thoughts of his betrayal: he wanted the answers which eluded him, though he was almost certain that he would not get them. His final attempt to pique her interest failed drastically, not even causing her to halt, let alone turn to face him, as he added, "I think I'm entitled to know anything you have on him, since it was the pressure _he_ applied that drove me to all this!"

That was news to the woman who had assumed she knew all the information she needed to judge who was in the wrong. Still, her exit did not falter, and she corrected him, "I was not talking about Jefferson, though his friendship with me has nothing to do with you either. I was referring Eliza, who you will not approach. I am here for her now." _Just as I always have been. No matter the sacrifices I have made in order to care for her, I would never change my choice to prioritize her happiness over my own. I only wish I could have protected her better._

Yet as she left, she did not immediately make her way towards the bedroom where she had left her sister over an hour ago, when she had been consoled sufficiently that she was able to sleep. Angelica could not come face to face with a pain which seemed to throw her own suffering, reawakened by Hamilton's questions, into irrelevancy. Instead, she loitered in the hallway and took a moment of solitude to revisit her regrets before she locked them firmly away within her heart, hiding them securely away from any prying eyes just as she always did.

She had scarcely even thought about Thomas since she first heard of Elizabeth's distress, but now the ghosts of her memories had been resurrected, crawling under her skin and fixing there like Jefferson himself had managed to so many years ago.

And now, Angelica had no option but to remember every last bittersweet detail.


	2. 1 - When I've lost my way pt 1

**A/N: Hi reader! Thanks for continuing with this story, and for your response to the prologue. Now the backstory! Which will be presented in five multi chapter parts, the first four of which are all a large flashback. Now, I warned you this wasn't going to be historically accurate, but the people Angie meets here were her real friends made in France! I really hope you enjoy this, please feel free to offer any advice!**

* * *

 _ **Chapter 1 - When I've lost my way: Part I**_

 _ **Winter 1787**_

In theory, the more dazzlingly cosmopolitan city of Paris, awash with socialites and socialists vying for power in an atmosphere alight with revolutionary friction much like her home city had been in the days of her youth ought to have suited Angelica Schuyler Church far more comfortably than London, where she had lived for the past few years.

In reality, a woman who is prone to miss her true roots so dreadfully felt only further sorrow at leaving a place she had learned to consider her home, forced to bid farewell to the British social circles which had successfully distracted her somewhat from her family back in the United States. Not that it could have been avoided - she would have remained in London had her husband not been required in France, and seeing as it was an engagement he could not decline along with the fact that it was simply unacceptable in his mind for him to travel across the channel and inhabit that foreign country bereft of the company of his wife and children, she had no option but to follow him.

She was not entirely alone, of course: her children, Philip at the age of nine and Kitty at the age of eight, were constant comforts to their adoring Mother, and remained the only consistently enduring evidential proof that some good could come from her choice in husband, even if it meant she was destined to be forever bound to him in the holy chains of marriage.

 _Like a wolf kept on a leash meant for some pitiful mutt,_ she reflected bitterly, regretting not for the first time her decision to elope with the first wealthy gentleman to capture her attention when she was (as ten years of reflection had finally shown her) realistically too young and naive to fully comprehend the inevitable consequences of their rash actions.

Lost in her own mind, her surroundings had seemingly slipped away from her until she felt a hand covering hers, stopping the incessant drumming of her polished nails upon the dining table that she hadn't even noticed she'd been doing, and suddenly she was sitting dejectedly before a plate of food which had clearly lost its heat some time ago in their new home in Paris, her husband at her side and gazing at her with clear concern in his eyes.

"Come, dear, enough of this. What on Earth is the matter?" The look of unreserved disappointment she shot him reinforced the fact that he should be all too aware that she was none too pleased about the move. Sighing, he squeezed her hand comfortingly and decided, "You're not happy, that much is obvious. You're bored, is that it? In want of some adult company other than that of your husband."

It was neither a question nor an accusation, just a statement of what they both knew to be the truth. Still, when he did all he could to keep her in comfort, she felt guilty even admitting her desire to interrupt the monotonous pattern of her life with John with something, _anything_ new. "It is not that I am tired of your company," she assured, unable to meet his gaze, "simply that I need to hear something other than our two voices when I engage in intelligent conversation." _That way, I might encounter someone other than myself who is actually capable of upholding an interesting discussion_.

"Of course, it is natural that you should require such a thing. And you shall have it," John stated affirmatively, fully understanding that he was often insufficient company to satisfy his wife - for all the wealth he possessed, the solution to the mystery that was Angelica's heart would forever elude John Barker Church: it was quite simply something that money could not buy.

Even so, he tried, in spite of the fact that he made more false steps on his journey to win her true adoration than he would ever know. "You may accompany me tomorrow to the State Ball. I am required to attend due to my political position, and I would be delighted to have the most astonishing beauty on my arm to aid me in making a good impression."

 _So I am attending to serve a function as opposed to fulfilling my own needs... Nevertheless, I don't have the luxury of refusing my first opportunity to mingle with Parisian society._ Overlooking his slightly patronizing tone and instead summoning a smile, Angelica nodded, "I would love that, my dear."

"Then it is settled," John nodded, pleased with his efforts, before rising to his feet. He kissed her forehead on his way from the room, presumably going elsewhere to tackle some other puzzle. Anything at all would prove to be far more easily deciphered than the woman who had chosen to become his other half.

* * *

For the first time since setting foot on French soil, Angelica Church was legitimately impressed: She was no architect, but the grandeur of the gaudy high ceilings painted with scenes of celestial Angels supported on golden arches and reflected in mirrors forming entire panels of the walls was not lost on her. Neither was the presence of hundreds of people dressed in the finest silks with delicate lace trims on every edge and complex embroidery decorating cuffs, collars and bodices.

The only thing which detracted from the otherwise incredible setting was the fact that she was not free to roam on her own and fulfil her need to express and then quench her thirst for knowledge. Instead, as he had initially suggested, John Church kept one arm out for his wife to hold on to, whilst the other was kept entirely free so that he might shake the hands of any gentleman who crossed his path.

As for Angelica, she remained almost silent, with John introducing her on her behalf and proceeding with his own conversation before she could so much as greet the stranger standing before the couple, let alone discuss anything even remotely interesting.

That is, until she locked eyes with a familiar figure.

Instantly, a welcoming grin spread across her old friend's slender face, reflecting her own delighted relief, and he made towards her without hesitation. As soon as he drew close enough that she would not appear too eager to disentangle her hands from her husband's forearm, she reached out for him, holding his slim shoulders as she regarded him with warmth and ease. "Gilbert du Motier, Marquis de Lafayette, I suppose I should have expected to see you here in your home country, but it is a joy to see you again anyway," she greeted fondly.

"Et Mademoiselle Angelica Schuyler! You are my sister through our shared brother of Alexander Hamilton, and yet I had no idea of your trip to France. Mon Dieu, you should have told me!" Lafayette scolded, his accent far thicker than it had been when they had last spoken, presumably influenced by his fellow countrymen.

Although his words were meant to chastise her, his smile clearly showed he was not at all angry at her. Like almost everyone she encountered, he had been too charmed by her upon their first meeting many years ago when he along with several soldiers in Washington's army had been permitted to rest and recuperate at her family mansion in Albany, before the man he considered a brother had even married Angelica's younger sister, to ever hold a grudge against her. "Cependant, c'est tres marvielleux pour moi to see you again."

After so long, it was comforting to encounter his occasionally confusing combination of English and French, and the woman felt a bubble of laughter rise within her and escape. He took one of her hands and politely kissed it, before turning to John and realizing, "Here is a man I do not know. Angelica?"

"My husband, John Barker Church," Angelica introduced, in the sort of unintentionally offhand manner of one who is forced to demonstrate correct social etiquette when they are in fact solely desperate to converse with the new presence before them. Which, ironically, was exactly how she had been introduced to John's acquaintances.

"I am honoured to meet the Marquis de Lafayette, Monsieur," John replied, shaking the Frenchman's hand as he recalled, "I have heard several tales of your bravery and wit in defending my Angelica's homeland."

Lafayette chuckled warmly, commenting with a playful smirk towards his old friend, "Je suis convaincu que the man who has successfully tamed the eldest Schuyler sister must possess courage and intelligence to match my own, if not exceed it, Monsieur."

Angelica gasped in mock offense, raising her brows in shock as she exclaimed, "Marquis, you make me sound like some rebellious creature determined to defy convention!" _If only you knew I was all too easily won over by a charming accent and a series of generous gifts just like every other woman, a perfect example of a traditional wife_. Still, it was reassuring to discover that she was still remembered by some as the feisty young girl her tender age had allowed her to be without any repercussions many years ago.

"Truly, I don't think you can deny it," Lafayette warned, playfully smirking and winking at her as he did so, however a slight frown from her husband prevented him from teasing her any further, lest he should irritate the relative stranger with a display of immaturity.

Swiftly altering the direction of the conversation, the former soldier returned to his previous conversation with John, "You remarked on my courage, mais c'était un privilege to establish freedom for the United States. It is a wonderful country, and I am surprised that a lady as patriotic as Angelica could bear to leave." He raised an inquisitive brow, seeking some elaboration from the foreigners.

"It has caused me pain to be parted from my home," Angelica admitted. Before she could confess any more of her emotional conflict, she swiftly offered him a false assurance and a tight smile, "but I am comforted by seeing my friends who, as you say, are as good as family, particularly when you know what it is to be a stranger in a new country."

"Exactement." He sympathized wholeheartedly, solemnly lowering his head in respect. An idea seemed to suddenly strike the Marquis, as after scarcely a moment he looked up again, his usual excitement returning to brighten his features. "If Monsieur Church does not mind, peut-être que je peux introduce you to many more people who know what it is to be a welcome guest in France, other strangers to this land with whom you may find camaraderie in sharing your love of absent homelands?"

His hopeful grin did not offer John an opportunity to refuse, especially when it was so blatantly apparent that his wife found such amusement in conversing with the Frenchman. John nodded silently, before catching sight of someone he had yet to meet. Distracted, he wandered away from Angelica and Lafayette, leaving them to their own devices.

The Frenchman noticed the tiniest trace of uncertainty glittering in the gaze of his friend, and asserted confidently, "You will be surprised at how many people come to feel at home in France, and I am sure that once you meet them, you will learn to love this country too."

Angelica nodded despite her personal misgivings, and allowed him to guide her amongst the patches of people, clearly seeking out a few faces in particular. After barely a minute, he located one. He happened to be a man Angelica recognized from several portraits too, though he exuded more warmth and friendliness in the flesh than an oil canvas could ever give him credit for, hence her willingness to introduce herself, "Mister Franklin, my name is Angelica Church, a friend of the Marquis de Lafayette and an acquaintance of George Washington. I am honoured to meet you here."

Franklin nodded in greeting, beaming at her as if they were reunited companions rather than strangers who had just met, glancing to Lafayette briefly before replying, "You need not be honoured, but instead be comforted; after all, is that not the purpose of the Marquis bringing us together?" He shook Lafayette's hand, then Angelica's, as he observed, "This intelligent man has undoubtedly decided to show you how your fellow Americans share your longing to return home so as to enable you to feel connected with them. Well, it is a noble mission, so I can safely say that you have a friend in me, Mrs Church." He had an air of intelligence about him, fitting for a man made famous for his dangerous experiments, and Angelica decided almost immediately that she liked him.

"Thank you, Sir. And might I compliment your exceptionally astute observation," she added, impressed by the way he had so swiftly realized precisely what she had hoped to gain from their encounter. Being gifted with a talent for accurate perception when meeting new people herself, she was appreciative when others shared her ability.

"You might, though perhaps I would consider it to be undeserved flattery. And now, if you would excuse me, I had hoped to talk to my successor this evening, and I have just spotted him. Adieu, Mrs Church, au revoir, Marquis." As quickly as their enjoyable conversation had begun, it was brought to an abrupt end.

Turning to her escort, Angelica enquired, "Who is his successor?" _Or more precisely, who may I hold responsible for stealing that pleasant gentleman away?_

Lafayette glanced in the direction in which Benjamin Franklin had disappeared, failing to locate the figure who had taken his attention. So, unable to point him out, he instead described, "Il s'appelle Thomas Jefferson, and he succeeded Franklin as the ambassador to France. You must meet him at some point. For now, however," he looked beyond Angelica's shoulder, "I think that you have un ami coming to see you."

Angelica turned around in time to see another face she recognized, this time belonging to a woman, a friend made during her time in London. Incredulous, she greeted, "Mrs Cosway, what are you doing here?" She had been fairly close to Maria before she and her husband had left London - at the very least she knew her well enough that she realized it was not her ideal pastime to socialize in such formal circumstances.

Maria only shrugged nonchalantly and remarked with a rare degree of confidence for a woman greeting a pair of old but not overly close friends, "The same as you, I suspect: trying to entertain myself with pleasant company at this ball I was made to attend by my less than amiable husband."

There was a touch of bitterness in her voice as she made the scathing comment, however it was masked relatively well by her genuinely pleased smile. "And now that I have found you, and of course Gilbert, I believe I am to be successful."

Angelica chuckled, touch by the warm praise from the woman she knew possessed a fiery temper she hid well much like Angelica herself, and replied, "Likewise," fondly taking Mrs Cosway by the hand in a gesture of understanding.

Lowering her voice slightly, she enquired, "You sound less than delighted, Maria. Are you and Richard fighting again?" It should have been a private matter, but then, Maria Cosway had never been reserved when it came to marital arguments.

A definite shadow crossed her face, and her voice lowered to an embarrassed murmur as she excused herself, "I'd rather not discuss that at this time, my dear Angelica." She would not dare say anything aloud, but she glanced momentarily to Lafayette as if by way of explanation. _Of course, she cannot discuss her husband's flaws in the presence of a gentleman who might encounter him this evening and let her confessions slip._

Also noticing the subtle action, the Marquis smiled and casually commented, "I do not think I should intrude on a reunion of old friends. Si vous me pardonnerez, mes beau femmes, au revoir," he bid them in his own language, reverting to it in preparation of speaking to more French attendees. With that, he drifted away amongst the crowd.

In privacy with the woman who she had decided in the past minute was worthy of becoming her most esteemed confidant, Maria became visibly exasperated as she lamented her marital problems, furtively revealing, " _Fighting_ doesn't begin to explain my current relationship to my _darling_ husband." Her voice dripped sarcasm, though Angelica was wise enough not to interrupt to point it out.

"He has decided that I must not continue to be a commissioned artist. He deems it an unworthy career with a sordid reputation whilst, might I add, he hypocritically continues his own career and conforms to the stereotypes he insists he is ending mine to prevent me from being tempted to experience." She rolled her eyes in frustration and confirmed, "Yes, I mean to say that I know he is being unfaithful to me."

Angelica's eyes widened in pity, and she squeezed her hand comfortingly as she commiserated, "Maria, I'm so sorry."

At the slightest hint of sympathy, the Italian painter waved away Angelica's sorrow, smiling as she placated, "There is no need to be miserable for me, especially when your own love life must occupy enough of your capacity for disappointment." It was a bold comment, but nonetheless true.

Angelica giggled conspiratorially as she admitted begrudgingly, "I'm afraid you are right. But at least I have my children to entertain me. I wonder where you find joy when you have none..."

It was not an accusation or even a direct question, but Maria decided to answer even so. Smirking mischievously, she confessed, "What makes you so sure I am confined solely to my husband? No, dear Angelica, don't worry about me; I admit, I have had some more interesting _company_ to entertain me." Raising her voice to normal volume again suddenly, she continued, "Speaking of interesting, I've just spotted one Mr Jefferson. Have you made his acquaintance yet?"

Angelica shook her head, admitting, "We haven't spoken, though I have been abandoned in favour of him, something I might hold against him."

Maria laughed, assuring her, "In which case you must speak to him at once - I guarantee you will not be able to bear a grudge against him." Before her friend could protest, she had linked her arm through Angelica's and was pulling her towards a tall man in a fitted fuscia jacket. "I promise you'll like him, he's an American," Maria murmured, before calling out, "Thomas!"

He turned around to face them, immediately smiling fondly towards the woman he was already familiar with. _And perhaps there is a glimmer of something slightly more than platonic there,_ Angelica noted as he bowed low before her artist companion, greeting her, "Maria, it is always a pleasure." Rising, he turned inquisitive his gaze on the newcomer. "And who is your friend?"

Angelica smiled at him, analytically recognizing intelligence in his brown eyes and a readiness to quarrel should the need arise in the set of his lips. At a glance, he reminded her of herself. Dipping into a courteous curtsey, she introduced herself, "My name is Angelica Schuyler Church. It's good to meet you, Sir."

"I'm inclined to say the same," he replied, taking her hand and lifting it to his lips, allowing his mouth to linger there as his eyes darted to hers, then to Mrs Cosway, and then back to Angelica. The former Schuyler could not explain why she felt a twinge of frustration at the realization that he was kissing her to tease her friend, but more than that, she couldn't begin to justify why she was suddenly swept up in her wish that he genuinely meant it when he allowed his deceptively soft lips to stroke her skin with such a tantalizing touch that for the briefest of seconds she felt the steady pulse of her heart falter...

* * *

 **A/N: I know this isn't the fastest chapter, it's just setting the scene for more juicy bits. Please stay tuned!**


	3. 2 - When I've lost my way pt 2

**A/N: Hello! Here comes chapter 2, I hope you enjoy it! I'm gonna explain some history things at the end! And thanks so so much to those of you who have commented or followed or favourited this, it honestly makes me so happy!**

* * *

 **Chapter 2 - When I've lost my way: Part II**

The rare silence of Angelica's heart lasted for all of one second, before Maria chuckled and pointed out, "That's enough, Thomas, you're making her blush." As soon as the words were spoken, the woman became acutely aware of the heat coursing through her veins and resting on her face, painting her cheeks a shade darker than they ought to be.

Embarrassment in the face of her pre-existing humiliation would only make her nerves all the more apparent, so the proud lady laughed and snatched her hand away, playing at nonchalance just as she had managed to perfect during her encounters with other men who had stilled her heart but were most definitely unavailable to her, such as her sister's husband.

She had no reason to worry so much about what they thought of her, however, because as soon as Mrs Cosway had warned him sternly against mortifying her friend, the American Ambassador seemed to remember the value of her company and his undivided attention fell back upon her, suggesting in a low, unmistakably flirtatious tone, "Did you have something _else_ in mind that I might kiss?"

The artist narrowed her eyes, as if deciding whether to punish or reward him for his bold query. In the end, she chose neither, instead opting to remind him of Angelica's presence and observations of his shameless teasing, "We'll see, but I had hoped you might find that my dear Angelica was more than enough to gratify your desire for kisses." She glanced playfully towards the woman in question, smirking in amusement whilst her eyes seemed to encourage her to participate in their overly friendly banter. "She has a great interest in being entertained by men much like yourself."

Angelica nodded, needing no more invitation to interject, "No matter the high opinion _you_ might hold of Mr Jefferson, _I_ have no reason as of yet to believe he is as entertaining as you claim." _Other than that gleam of intelligence - that at least indicates he has_ potential _to rouse my interest._

Thomas returned his attention to Angelica, an eyebrow quizzically raised as he accused, "You would have blushed like that for anyone? And here I was, believing I was something special."

"Is that right? Special to me personally, or just in general?" Angelica shot back with a sweet smile which contradicted the speed and emphasis behind her daringly critical retort. Just a minute in his company was long enough for her to establish the realization that Jefferson was either at worst unjustifiably arrogant or at best overly confident in his abilities. She had yet to discover if he had any specific talent which warranted such self-assurance.

Thomas narrowed his eyes, and scanned the newcomer, unaccustomed to women doing anything other than fall immediately at his feet in their efforts to gain his favour. Angelica Schuyler Church was drastically different, in that she not only seemed like she had yet to be charmed by his words, but that she also seemed to be tossing an outright insult at his ego.

Had she not had such a pleasing smile, he might have decided then and there that he did not like her and resolved to speak only to Maria and ignore her completely. But, though it chagrined him to excuse her comment, he painted on a smile and pretended he had never even noticed the sarcasm in her retort, "I believed I might be special to _you_ , but forgive me if I was mistaken."

"You were, Sir, because I am a firm believer that everyone should earn acclaim before being lionized," Angelica confirmed, not forgetting to encourage, "I'm sure you have potential to prove yourself to me yet."

Throughout the duration of this exchange, Mrs Cosway had watched, enraptured, at the conversation between her occasional lover and her friend she had been estranged from for so long, pleased that they seemed to be compatible with one another judging the way there was not a lull in the chatter and optimistically hopeful that it might continue.

However, her dreams were dashed when an unwelcome presence appeared at her side, attempting to grab her hand before she defiantly folded her arms over her chest. Not ripping her eyes away from the pair in front of her out of reluctance to gaze upon the man at her side just as much as infatuation with their discussion, she kept her words clipped and disinterested as she asked, "What is it, my _dear_ husband?"

At that, both Angelica and Thomas forgot whatever words might have been poised and prepared to leave their lips and instead turned to observe the tense conversation between the scorned husband and his blatantly antagonized wife. Richard Cosway, the renowned painter of miniatures, was evidently more expressive with a brush than he was with words, curtly explaining, "We're going home. Say goodbye to your companions."

With a look which could have been either a falsely enthusiastic grin or a deeply dismayed grimace, Maria obeyed, murmuring, "Goodbye, dear Angelica. Have a lovely evening, and remember you have friends here already who adore you." Turning to Jefferson, she winked for the express purpose of causing her husband to instantly flush a deep, envious shade of purple in irritation and bid, "Goodbye, my darling Thomas."

Maria turned around and walked away from her husband towards the door, leaving Angelica watching the curious way Richard Cosway's face twisted into an unrecognizable distortion as he struggled to stifle his annoyance at the way Jefferson's gaze following after her longingly. By the time she reached the door, he had managed to look instead at her husband, smirking smugly as he patronizingly reminded him, "I thought you were leaving."

Cosway glared at Jefferson in a silence so deathly that it spoke volumes momentarily before following the steps of his wife.

Angelica returned her focus to Thomas, astutely remarking, "I'd hazard a guess that Mr Cosway knows _exactly_ what you're doing with his wife." _And I'm not surprised - neither of you were particularly subtle._

Jefferson's eyes widened in surprise, before transforming into a laughably weak attempt at feigning innocence as he insisted, "I have no idea what you mean." Angelica rolled her eyes, earning a tentative chuckle from her fellow American, opening her mouth to present the information she had gathered before Jefferson put his hands up and begrudgingly confessed, "Fine, you caught me. She told you?"

"She mentioned that keeping company other than her husband was occupying her time," Angelica shrugged, hoping despite herself in an uncharacteristic hunger for gossip on this specific subject that Thomas might enlighten her further if she remained vague.

The man sighed, rubbing his temple in a brief show of weakness as he admitted, " _"Was"_ is the operative word in that sentence. We _were_ something, but she put an end to it a few weeks ago. This evening was the first time I had seen her since then."

Angelica glanced immediately to the ground, awash with the feeling of guilt that she had interrupted the reunited former couple on the first and perhaps the only occasion when Jefferson might be able to change her mind as he so obviously longed to do. "I'm sorry, Sir. That... it is a terrible thing to be in love with someone you can not have." _I completely understand, but please, please don't ask me how I happen to know that._

Fortunately, she was spared any unwanted, overly probing questions as the Ambassador to France had evidently decided to deny his enduring fondness for the Italian painter. Smiling reassuringly, he corrected, "I do not love her, because if I did, she would not escape me. You can be certain of that, Mrs Church," he finished, his words taking on a strange gravity and his eyes glowing with some new but unidentifiable quality.

Feeling again as though Jefferson might be capable of causing a jump in her pulse, the woman tried to distract him from whatever game he was playing so well, changing topic without a hint of subtly as she remembered, "The Marquis de Lafayette informed me that you succeeded Benjamin Franklin as the United States' Ambassador to France." She asked no questions, but her attentive gaze invited elaboration from the politician.

Thomas nodded, pointing out, "That _is_ how I came to be here, in _France_."

She couldn't understand why he seemed so hesitant to share more than that meagre phrase regarding his position, but giving him a second chance she coaxed him to reveal more, "What duties fall to you in your time here?"

Jefferson frowned, allowing a hint of sarcasm to taint his words as he suggested, "There must be something you would rather discuss than my political duties. After all, the tender breasts of ladies were not formed for political convulsion; and the French ladies miscalculate much their own happiness when they wander from the true field of their influence into that of politics."

There was nothing malicious in his expression, only the placid demeanour of one who is blissfully ignorant to the insult he had caused with his casual disregard of womankind.

His mistake was not to go unpunished, however, as Angelica's suddenly stormy frown forewarned the verbal strike of lighting headed directly for him. Drawing a deep breath before erupting, she proceeded to vehemently argue, "That is one of the most conceited examples of thoughtless misogyny I have seen in some time. Who are _you_ to make sweeping generalizations about half of the human race when you have met a mere fraction of the world's women, and cannot claim to know the extent of their abilities? And what makes you believe you can tell me _my_ conversational purpose when you know absolutely nothing about me? My Father, General Philip Schuyler, is a New York Senator who taught me plenty about that which you deem me unworthy of talking about, and my brother-in-law, Alexander Hamilton, spoke at the Constitutional Convention and continually stimulates my knowledge in his letters to me, even asking my advice on matters. So if it's not too much trouble, I think you ought to judge every person individually on their strengths rather than assuming that all men are naturally gifted decision makers and women are entirely incapable. I've known many men who were in fact far less intelligent than so many clever women I've encountered in my time, Jefferson." She concluded with a stern look which dared him to contradict her, and threatened a fate worse than death if he had the audacity to do so.

Thomas stood in stunned silence for a moment, regarding her with great scrutiny. Yes, it was evidentially proven that Mrs Schuyler-Church was very much unique from any other woman he had encountered. Eventually, he nodded in surprising submission, murmuring, "Point taken," before briskly steering the subject matter away from the tender area of gender inequality. "Anyway, you were asking me about my responsibilities."

"Yes, and you were criticizing my gender." The man winced at her quip, and his relief was palpable when she elected to continue the new strand of conversation, "If you believe my fragile body can withstand the pressure of listening, I'd be very interested in learning more about it."

He chuckled with uncharacteristic nerves at that dig, before complying with her suggestion, explaining, "I am stationed here in the capital of France in order to maintain a diplomatic and peaceful relationship between our own home country and this one. I am supposedly involved in any negotiations made during my time here, and I can ensure that France's views towards us are friendly."

Angelica nodded thoughtfully, recalling, "I thought as much. I encouraged my dear brother to apply for your position some time ago, though I will admit that was advice rooted primarily in my desire to be nearer to him and my darling sister." At the mention of Elizabeth Hamilton, her elder sister's countenance took on a trace of sadness, her radiant eyes transforming into hollow orbs which reflected the loneliness she had forced to the back of her mind.

In an unexpected show of humanity from the man who as of yet had displayed nothing but egotistical confidence in his own abilities, Thomas' words were bizarrely gentle as he asked, "You miss them so much?"

Angelica dredged up a bittersweet smile, unconvincing as she attempted to assure him, "I am satisfied with my own company and that of my husband and children. It would not be fair on my Betsey or our Alexander to drag them to an entirely different continent for the sake of my comfort." _There are certain things I must not do, and one is distracting the great polymath, while another is ripping a second daughter miles away from our Father._

Showing his skills of perception for the first time, Jefferson was clearly sceptical about her response, but rather than prying further into matters of the relative stranger's heart, he instead opted to comfort her, setting a hand on her forearm as he decided, "I may not be your esteemed brother, but seeing as I am Ambassador instead of him, I will do all I can to assist you in any way within my power." There was an unanticipated heat in his words as he commented offhandedly, "You know, seeing that my fellow Americans feel at home in this country also falls within my responsibilities, Mrs Church."

His sensitivity truly warmed her heart, and for the first time that evening he saw genuine happiness in her smile as she murmured softly, "Thank you, Mr Jefferson."

He returned a grin, glad that he had helped to keep her pain at bay, however all too swiftly his grin was reduced to the smirk he usually donned as he enquired curiously, "You said you were here with your husband and children... for a woman so adamant that the fairer sex is as capable as any man to make a decision, why is it that _he_ , whoever he might be, has dictated that you join him here rather than remain with your fellow countrymen in our motherland?" He didn't explicitly criticize either half of the Church couple, but something about his tone seemed almost scornful of whatever man believed he could control the evidently feisty creature before him, and bemused that she would submit to his will.

Raising an eyebrow, she clarified, "Are you saying that you believe I should simply defy my husband and do as I wish?"

His complacent smirk only grew as he pointed out a flaw in her reply, "Are you admitting that doing what you wish and remaining at you husband's beck and call are two vastly different things?"

She scowled, but there was humour in her eyes sufficient to permit him to laugh at her. Shaking her head in amusement, she avoided directly answering his query with a simple statement which had become something of a mantra to her in the days when she truly despaired, "My husband is a wonderful man who adores and spoils me, and any woman should be proud to accompany him on his ambitious endeavours."

" _"Should"_ and _"is"_ are very different terms, Angelica," he muttered with a playful smirk, hurrying to continue before she could defend her marriage, "And what endeavours are those?" Although Thomas had the courtesy to ask, he still retained a thoroughly unimpressed view of the husband he had yet to meet.

"John is a businessman who made a great fortune during the Revolutionary War by selling to American troops when his fellow Englishmen refused to do so. Now he is in pursuit of a seat in the Houses of Parliament back in London," she informed him, head held high as if honestly proud of his achievements. She knew, though, that regardless of the wealth it rewarded their family with, a successful businessman paled to tragic insignificance when compared to the man she had set her heart on in another lifetime.

"And to earn that, he brought you to... France?" Jefferson checked, this time confused not simply because he had judged Angelica to be the sort of woman who fantasized about far more than money in a relationship, but also because the man he could already assume was less intelligent than his wife was apparently going very much out of his way in order to fulfil his dreams.

Angelica only shrugged, understanding his relatable lack of comprehension, as she remarked, "I suppose the connections he makes here might make all the difference."

"Even so, to pull a woman such as yourself from her home in order to make connections which may or may not in turn result in a position of political power hardly seems fair," he pointed out, somehow giving off the impression of a man who believed in gender equality as much as she did when she knew for a fact that he that he could be unfairly dismissive of her himself.

Her raised eyebrow seemed to convey her opinion that he was being hypocritical, and he swiftly added, "I mean, as a _husband_ , his priority is surely meant to be his _wife's_ happiness."

Angelica sighed, reminding him sternly, "It is _my_ place to judge my dear husband, and it is _your_ place to respect our marriage, regardless of your own personal ponderings." _Even if you happen to be quite correct on this occasion_ , she added mentally, but would not dare to criticize John aloud, particularly to a man she had only just become acquainted with.

Jefferson was sensible enough to let the matter drop, instead choosing to find some sort of solution to the endearing woman's woe rather than blame the man who, in his opinion, was solely responsible for causing it. Speaking it as more of a demand than an offer, he insisted, "Well, if you are bound to this man whose ambitions are destined to make you miserable, I see it as my duty to do all I can to ease your sadness, Angelica."

She opened her mouth to protest before he interrupted, "I have known loneliness myself - my youngest daughter has been left behind in America, so I can relate to your longing to see your family again." He had assumed his typical self-assured persona until he mentioned his daughter, at which point his own expression became tainted with sorrow. It looked undeniably odd on the features she had only ever seen smiling or scanning thoughtfully, and it elicited feelings of sympathy for the man.

Offering her hand, she agreed, "Very well. We, as Americans, will do all we can to reduce the nagging feelings of homesickness which plague us, if it would please you."

Jefferson took her hand in his, shook it once, and lifted it again to his mouth as he murmured sombrely, "Most definitely, Mrs Church." This time, there was no woman other than Angelica in his mind as he kissed her knuckles, an innocent gesture which seemed to promise so much more to come...

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 **A/N: DAYUM SON TJEFFS GOT GAME AMIRITE?**

 **Just kidding, anyway, that TJeffs quote about boobs and politics not mixing was something he genuinely wrote in a letter to Angelica. Maria Cosway crossing her arms in defiance is a subtle reference to how she painted a self portrait with her arms folded in protest to her husband making her stop painting. And it is believed she and TJeffs really did have an affair, which is why they're so flirty, but don't worry because more Jeffergelica is very much on its way!**

 **I think that's all! Oh, apart from a reminder that regardless of how much he might be romanticized in this Angelica centric story, it is my personal opinion and an actual fact that he was a massive arse and that should not be forgotten. Please, for the sake of Sally Hemings.**

 **And thanks again for reading! More coming soon!**


	4. 3 - When I've lost my way pt 3

**A/N: Oh my gawwwd I feel awful for leaving you wonderful people hanging for so long! Thanks for being so patient. I've been pretty busy with school starting back up, and also I have just begun a new fan fiction which I can't show you for a couple of months but which I am super excited about! I can't tell you more than that, it's a surprise... but I really hope you enjoy this chapter! I'm going to try to update this slightly more regularly, because I know this story is going to be fun to write when I really get to the juicy stuff! Thanks again for reading!**

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 _ **Chapter 3: When I've lost my way - Part III**_

 ** _Paris, Spring 1787_**

Though Thomas Jefferson had assured Angelica Church that she would not experience loneliness due to the way he selflessly offered his presence as a fellow American to ease her feelings of homesickness, that did not emerge to be the way things occurred during the first two months following the pair's initial meeting. Not once did the man's shadow grace the Church's door, never did a letter arrive bearing her name in his neat, flowing scribe. _Promises have been made,_ she reflected, _but who can truly judge their worth when the on the other side of the deal is a man I have met just one time, and who I hardly know well enough to assess whether or not he seems the type of man to deliver that which he offers?_

At first, she couldn't help but wonder time and time again if she had done something to chase him away. But as the weeks flew by and new responsibilities and social engagements stole her attention, she began to pull her mind away from Mr Jefferson, only occasionally thinking of him when Maria Cosway mentioned him in passing, and even then, the image of him in her mind began to lose clarity.

By the time Spring arrived, bringing with it the cheerful music of birdsong, brilliant dashes of colour in the form of flowers littering every garden, and rejuvenating the city with a previously unforseen lease of life, she had dismissed the idea altogether as nothing but a fleeting dream, an intangible fantasy just like so many other thoughts which became lodged in her mind following tragically brief encounters with charming, witty young gentlemen she met at balls.

But all of her certainty that she would never meet Jefferson again on any occasion but at another formal engagement fell away from her when, completely unannounced to her or anyone else, a maid hurried to locate her in her parlour, greeting her with the news that she had a thoroughly unexpected guest:

Speaking timidly, the younger girl informed her mistress, "The American Ambassador to France, Mr Thomas Jefferson, is here to visit you, Mrs Church. Should I show him in?"

Turning to her maid in abject confusion and with clearly visible disbelief embodied within her frown, Angelica asked, "Are you sure he is here to see me? It seems odd that he should..." She trailed off, absentmindedly considering if it would be more strange if he had suddenly remembered he was supposed to have visited her two months after he first promised he would do so, or if he had remembered his vow all along and only now decided he could spare her a few minutes of his time.

Oblivious to the woman's internal ponderings, the maid replied, "He asked specifically to see you. He did not even mention Mr Church."

 _Oh. So he really does want to see me_ , she concluded, still slightly puzzled but managing to mask it well. Running a hand through her hair and tucking any loose strands back where they belonged, she decided, "In which case, please do invite him inside. I should like to talk to him, I think."

The maid nodded and retreated from whence she came, returning a moment later with the guest in tow. Upon seeing his almost arrogant smile, she looked away, causing his expression to change from one of confidence to confusion in an amusingly short time frame as he greeted, "Mrs Angelica Church... Sorry, ma'am, did I do something wrong?"

"Some would argue it is rude to venture to another person's home without warning them prior to your arrival," she began, still refusing to make eye contact, "Yet personally, I consider it even more insulting that you have not been in contact with me at all since you made an explicit promise to do just that, only to then have the audacity to visit my home without even offering an apology."

Sighing with perhaps a hint of frustration tinting his words, he retorted almost childishly, "Perhaps I would have gotten that far if you had not divided down my throat as soon as I entered!" Forcing himself to adopt a more sincere tone, he murmured, "I am terribly sorry to have caused offense, Miss. I have been exceptionally busy and it has lead me to neglect my social duties, but if you could find it within yourself to allow me to make amends, I would love for you to join me on a walk about the city so that we might catch up on all that we have missed."

Angelica had half a mind to insist he left, claiming his apology was critically insufficient. But, alas, she was in such desperate need of companionship that she hardly felt she was in a position to refuse new company, no matter the source. And so, still not raising a smile for the American Ambassador, she raised her chin defiantly into the air and finally met his intense gaze as she accepted, "Very well. You may try to make amends, though how successful you will be, I couldn't begin to guess."

For once, Jefferson did not even attempt to persuade her to change her sceptical attitude into a more pleasing demeanour - in the little time he'd spent with her, it was clear that she was not the sort of woman to have her thoughts, feelings or actions altered to suit the whims of a man. He only offered his arm, which she took with a curt sniff, and lead her from her home.

* * *

"So, my dearest Angelica, how are you finding fair Paris?" Thomas asked, all of the tension which he, like most politicians, carried with him evaporated in the warm spring air. A meandering stroll through the most beautiful parts of the city in the company of a woman as intellectually capable as she was attractive was evidently a very effective method of blowing away the cobwebs which had clouded and dulled his mind and heart. There was a visible spring in his step as he walked, and however much she begrudged his long absence from her life, Angelica had to admit that she was uplifted by the seemingly carefree way he went about his business.

Opening up to the man somewhat, she confessed, "I am finding it nowhere near as fair as our own motherland." However, she instantly regretted her honesty when she sensed his pitying gaze burning into her and making her skin crawl as if it had a life of its own. Quickly amending her statement, she corrected, "That is not to say I spend all of my time despairing and longing for home."

"I see," Jefferson nodded, a cocked brow indicating he did not quite believe her. Sure enough, after a brief pause, he finished on her behalf, "it's just the _majority_ of your time spent pining rather than _every_ last second."

"Not so, Sir," she countered emphatically, a touch of irritation lending her words a sharp edge as she warned, "Do not presume you are able to read a second meaning into my words. I mean what I say: I do not pine. I refuse to be helpless simply because dedication to my husband has brought me to a foreign land."

"I see," Jefferson repeated.

A silence ensued, full of words left unspoken. It was Mrs Church that eventually broke it, shattering the undisturbed quiet with a hurried, bashful admission, "Maybe I _do_ miss my home - but that is no crime! _You're_ one of those fortunate enough to have something important and interesting to occupy your time, but what about the likes of me? The women with busy, inattentive spouses and children who must attend school, what is there for us to do but lounge in cosy little parlours drinking tea from dainty china teacups?" Though the words described a pleasant scene, her voice was increasing in volume and echoing disgust. "And what only exacerbates the horrid situation is the small, persistent detail that my heart won't stop reminding me of and making me long for: the glorious days of action, in which barrels of that very beverage were tossed into the ocean by my fellow Americans to enrage the King - who, might I add, I have since dined with since leaving our glorious country. You see, not only have I lost my homeland, but also the principles upon which it was built."

Unsure of himself in the face of her emotive outburst, Thomas hesitantly wrapped an arm around her shoulder in something which resembled a comforting embrace.

"I don't need your pity, Sir," the uncharacteristically exposed woman assured, however she made no immediate move to quit his side, leaning into him for a few moments while she worked to compose herself and don that mask which usually came to her as a second nature. Remembering her surroundings, she soon stepped away from him. Speaking slowly to ensure she didn't break into another tirade, the former Schuyler concluded, "Though I know I must be here, I do regret that since my arrival, I have been unbearably idle." _Try to convince him that you are just fine. You don't need him thinking anything is out of the ordinary - you've already said far too much._

Choosing to humour her for the time being rather than press for even more information than that which made up her recent flood of confessions, he remarked loftily, "Idleness is the root of all evil."

"Is that right?" Angelica enquired, cocking a sceptical eyebrow as she offered her own opinion, "That is a very philosophical statement, but I believe there are far more damaging things in the world than a simple lack of activity to occupy your time: murder; public and domestic violence; people living in absolute poverty and turning to crime to feed themselves because no one will help; Politicians neglecting their duty and forgetting promises to their fellow countrymen and women." With her final suggestion, she shot him a meaningful glance, forcing him to chuckle uncomfortably.

"Is that a quip intended to hurt me, Mrs Church? For I find it unnecessary, particularly when I have explained that I only abandoned my promise to you because I became burdened heavily and suddenly with urgent matters." She made no comment, leaving him to proceed to resume the argument, "Besides, though the examples you listed are indeed examples of terrible situations, it could be argued that idleness does in fact play a role in every one of those things, leaving people with nothing to do but resort to carrying out evil deeds."

Scoffing incredulously, Angelica challenged, "You believe that people kill because they are _bored_? No, Sir, I disagree wholeheartedly. I find that the root of evil is a lack of compassion, which could perhaps be considered a form of evil within itself. But I think that you will see - if you can bring yourself to look - that with nurturing support and forgiveness readily available, there would be far less evil in the world."

Her companion considered it, mulling it over carefully and deciding, "You argue and justify your position very well. I must admit, your intellectual ability is... Admirable."

Chuckling with amusement at the irony of Jefferson, of all people, complimenting her witty brain, she pointed out, "You have certainly altered your views on females since our last meeting, haven't you?" _Not that it is a bad thing, not in the slightest._

Jefferson stopped walking, and the woman at his side copied him, gazing at him with curious interest which somehow caused a flush of desire to surge through the man. Lowering his voice to a soft, flirtatious whisper, he declared, "I _have_ changed, Angelica. I could show you, if you'd only permit me to..." Slowly, he leaned down, bringing his face just centimetres from hers and loitering there, unsure whether or not to kiss her or to display reticence in case she rejected him.

She didn't quite know why she stepped away. She was tempted to close the shrinking distance between their lips and realize her newest fantasy, but something held her back. Her better judgement, or her conscience, or that bulky wedding ring, stopped her from doing what she longed to, and instead prompted her to continue walking, fiercely reminding herself as she did so that she was a married woman. The air burned with awkward tension, and in a bid to lighten the suddenly heavy, stifling atmosphere, the woman showed no tact or subtly as she moved swiftly onto a new topic of discussion. With a forced teasing undertone to her voice, she remarked, "That is an awfully bright jacket, Mr Jefferson. Perhaps you'd do well to invest in a less... ostentatious outfit?"

Thomas smiled, missing the hint of sarcasm as he replied, "You have Mrs Cosway to thank for my vibrant wardrobe choices. Before she came into my life, I couldn't bring myself to wear any colour save for black."

"Why on earth did you stop?" Angelica continued to taunt the man, almost confessing openly that she was less than keen on his dress sense.

But she came to regret it almost at once as he flatly, sombrely revealed, "I stopped wearing black because I no longer felt so sickeningly disheartened by the death of my wife that I couldn't stand to wear another colour." There was no mirth in his gaze to match hers, only deep sorrow from remembering the absolutely genuine truth behind his outfit selection.

A twist of guilt stabbing her in the gut, Angelica profusely apologised, "I am so sorry, I had no idea. I wouldn't have said a word if I had only known the story behind your bright wardrobe." He shook his head, trying to put an end to the obvious pity she felt for him - he loathed the nauseating feeling of overwhelming sympathy which he so often encountered when people learned of his status as a widow. Once again trying to relieve the tension from the conversation, the eldest former Schuyler sister suggested, "You and my good friend Maria must be very close if she has had such an impact on you." _Well, I_ know _you must have been, I am fairly certain that an affair has taken place between the two of you._

But instead of an emotionally exposing confession, Jefferson only shrugged, a casual smile beginning to return to his lips as he corrected her, "Maria and I have found solace in one another's company, that is for sure. But I don't think we are as close as you believe: I know danger when I see it, and I can recognize that to feel something for Maria would be a risk I am unwilling to take." A smirk began to grow as he added, "That leaves a vacancy: I need some form of entertainment, a woman to save me from being idle, and I know you need the same."

"A woman to keep me from being idle doesn't sound like quite what I need," Angelica remarked, picking up on his grammatical error and causing him to chuckle, this time with true amusement. "But you are right when you say I need someone to save me from an endless cycle of attending afternoon teas and serving my husband's colleagues when we host our own dinners." _Which is what I dared to hope I might find in you, once upon another time._

"A convenient arrangement, then, would be for you and I to make an effort to become closer companions, don't you think?" He suggested, just as they turned the corner onto the road where Angelica lived for the time being.

"We have made that sort of agreement previously, Sir, and it did not work quite as we had hoped," the practical woman reminded him, unwilling to inflict further disappointment on herself when he inevitably failed to deliver his promises again.

"Then let us try again; do we not owe it to ourselves to allow this budding friendship a second chance to bloom into something beautiful?" He eagerly insisted, determined that he would not be so foolish as to allow the dazzling woman to slip away from him. _Not after leaning all I found out from her today_ , he assured himself.

They had reached the top of the path leading to the Church's family home, and Angelica was ready to bid the man goodbye. But before she did so, however, she indulged him, and herself, by allowing the agreement to be made once more. "Very well. We may try harder to maintain a friendship if it would please you." _Just so long as we don't come perilously close to kissing again._ As a precautionary afterthought, she warned, "If you do anything, anything at all to ruin this chance, then I can guarantee that you will not win my friendship back again."

But Thomas had no intention of letting her down. With a nod and a wide, confident grin, he confirmed, "Don't fret, my dearest Angelica. I will do no such thing to jeopardize something which I firmly believe could grow to be beautiful."

 _In fact_ , he decided, though he kept it to himself for the time being, _I will do everything within my power to ensure it does just that._


	5. 4 - When I've lost my way pt 4

**A/N: Hey peeps! Wazzup? Hope you are feeling much better than I am right now - I've spent most of the day freezing and exhausted in bed with a sore throat and a headache and a stomach ache and constantly sneezing. But! That gave me a chance to write this. It makes me feel a little better, so don't you go worrying about me :) I hope it can make you feel a little better too! Thank you so much for reading this!**

* * *

 _ **Chapter 4: When I've lost my way - Part IV**_

 ** _Paris, Spring 1787_**

The American Ambassador to France did not disappoint in any area in which he had pledged his services, much to the relief and jubilation of his newly instated muse and confidante. He and Angelica Church took to regular calls to one another's homes for nothing more scandalous than revelling in good company and exchanging the occasional risque comment, and for the most part, that quenched the businessman's wife's thirst for intelligent companionship, and for a man who was entirely willing to shower her with the attentive admiration that her own husband so regularly denied her without even realising that he consistently failed to notice her.

Perhaps it was simply that she had been a traveller lost in drastically inhospitable territory and he was a lake of cool, clean water ready to satisfy her desires and wash away all traces of discomfort and dejection. Or perhaps it was that she had some carnal longing buried deep within her soul which only those intelligent enough to ignite it could unlock. No matter the cause, she could neither explain or deny the fact that, much as she knew it was morally wrong, she began to want something more.

But she was in good company when it came to developing an inappropriate fondness for the man, as Maria Cosway often reminded her when they met, with a carefree laugh and the obstinate assurance, "Who could blame either you or I for being so fond of a man with an ounce of sense when we have both been bound to husbands who have none to speak of?"

In her own home, Angelica remained reserved about responding to the rhetorical question, but in the parlour of her most trusted confidante and dearest friend in Europe, she engaged in the harmless criticism, reluctantly confessing, "I admit, sometimes I find pouring over an old letter or two to be far more riveting than actually talking to John."

Maria nodded good-naturedly and recalled, "That's right, you have your own source of entertainment sending you regular letters, don't you?" She knew some of Angelica's sorry tale of her sister's glorious husband, and she had assumed the remainder, arriving at a conclusion which was not too far from reality.

"Yes," the Church woman confirmed, growing curious as she watched Maria's brow crease in concentration. "Why do you ask?"

"I wonder if your heart is perhaps tethered to those you have left behind, so much so that you are unable to allow anyone else to steal into your affections while you are here." She spoke confidently, certain that her friend would not chastise her bold, prying enquiry.

Sure enough, Angelica only sighed with an air of disconsolation, and gave a vague reply to the question, "I do miss my family, my darling Betsey and her Hamilton. I wish I could be with them, it is true, but I can not make myself believe that I made the wrong choice." _In accompanying my husband like a sentient piece of subservient luggage, in allowing my dear little sister to marry the man she adores, in running away from the torturous pain of being so infuriatingly close to the tangible possibility of having Alexander Hamilton without actually being able to make him mine._ "In that sense, I know with all of my heart that it is right for me to be here."

"But that does not guarantee your heart is truly here with you," Mrs Cosway gently pointed out, her joviality replaced by unexpected sincerity without a warning. "Until you stop longing to be elsewhere and in different company, you will never find satisfaction. And you _do_ deserve to be happy and content, my dear friend."

Angelica felt compelled to smile by the sweet words, but it was tinged with sadness as she lamented, "It is not as easy as all that, there are always more people than just myself to consider in every decision. And besides, even if I _did_ settle here, you know as well as I do that there is nothing at all to stand in the way of my husband if he decides suddenly that he would rather live elsewhere. And then I would have to experience the same thing over and over again, just like you are," she indicated a trunk in the corner of the modest room, just one of many littered around the Cosway residence, packed to the brim as the couple prepared to depart from Paris on a whim of Maria's husband. Reaching for Maria's hand, she murmured, "I cannot believe you're leaving. How on earth will I cope without you?"

A smirk beginning to return to her thin lips, Maria teased, "I think we _both_ know a certain someone who would be only too glad to soften the blow."

The elder woman rolled her eyes with a chuckle and, though she would have claimed it was simply a trick of the light if she had been questioned over it, a delicate rosy hue flooded her cheeks. Her voice gave no indication of being flustered, however, and she retorted with sarcasm, "Yes, I'm _sure_ Thomas would _love_ to hold me while I cry over you, if only to have the chance to touch me without being pushed away."

"I think he would," Maria remarked offhandedly, "And I also think _you'd_ appreciate that more than you want to let yourself believe."

Scoffing at the direction their conversation had taken, Angelica insisted, "I know exactly what Mr Jefferson wants, and I know that it is not something I am at liberty to give." _Though, you are right - I would relish being with him, if only I were able to be._

With fond exasperation, Maria declared, "You and him are made for one another." At Angelica's stunned expression, she scolded, "Don't give me that outraged face, just hear me out: you are clearly infatuated with him, and no matter who else may have stolen a piece of your heart, that is not something you can ignore. And then, you profess your boredom with your marriage, yet when the perfect opportunity arises, you make no move to capitalize on Thomas' affection for you. Honestly, you know I adore you, but you are impossible, Mrs Schuyler Church!"

She sighed, leaving her friend time to cock an eyebrow and sceptically ask, "How exactly does you berating me justify your ridiculous claim that Jefferson and I are destined for one another?"

"I was just reaching that before you interrupted, my dear Angie. Now as I was saying before you started questioning me, you are impossible, and so is he. You are both so stubborn, so obsessed with masking your true feelings, it's infuriating! There _you_ are, obsessed with protecting your image by denying yourself the pleasure which I guarantee you Jefferson would be more than delighted to grant you, and there _he_ is, determined to portray himself as that confident, self-assured charmer who cannot be fazed, when I know that he possesses such a capacity for sensitivity." Shaking her head in despair, she moaned emphatically, "I can not handle the two of you separately. You belong together, so that both of you can finally be hedonistic and bold enough to confess your true emotions and lose those awful pretences for good."

Angelica took a few seconds to respond, absorbing the lessons which Maria had just forced upon her. When she did, it was with the mild comment, "I _will_ miss your frankness. You aren't afraid to speak your mind, it's admirable, truly."

Maria nodded, saying nothing, but shifting into the more reticent side of her personality. They remained in silence for a little while, until the artist mumbled under her breath, "You're too kind, and I'm undeserving of your praise." Angelica's inquisitive gaze begged an explanation, and Maria couldn't help but oblige, bashfully admitting, "I _have_ been afraid to speak. I haven't told him. I couldn't."

Angelica's forehead creased again, pulling together her thoughts to reach the realization:

 _Thomas does not know she is leaving._

She opened her mouth to ask why, but Maria openly volunteered the information without hesitation, keen to get it off her chest by confessing her reasoning to a person who would not only understand but who might also be able to help. Speaking slowly, she revealed, "I know Thomas very well. He's fragile, beneath his bravado, and there is a deep void of sorrow within him. There has been ever since his wife died, and although I naturally want to ease the pain of my dear friend, I cannot allow his happiness to become dependent on me - I move around so much, I doubt I will even see him again once I leave. So I have tried to distance myself from him, in the hope that he will not even notice me slipping away." There was a note of desperation in her voice, as if she was trying to convince herself that it was so.

But her companion knew otherwise, and she also knew that lying to yourself could only ever lead to more pain. And so, she calmly insisted, "He _will_ notice, and you must realize that. It will be easier for both of you if you warn him, and say goodbye properly. Finish everything, and then even if you never meet again, you will not leave him regretting that he did not get to see you before you left." _After all you've undoubtedly been, you owe him this courtesy, Maria,_ she added silently.

The other woman pondered her friend's words, weighing up the positives against the negatives. Eventually, she decided, "Very well. I will warn him, this evening, just before I leave." A trace of panic crossing her gaze, she frantically pleaded, "Angelica, you must make sure he copes. Visit him, dry his tears, for the sake of our friendship if not for yours with him."

The idea of seeing the American Ambassador to France in his most vulnerable state made the usually verbose woman's mouth turn dry. And yet, how could she let her best friend worry over Jefferson's wellbeing for however long it took for a letter to confirm he was managing just fine to reach her? And more than that, she felt a stirring of helpless remorse when she imagined Thomas weeping on his own. So she nodded, squeezed Maria's hand, and assured, "Of course. Anything for my darling friend."

Maria grinned, a radiant expression which exuded gratitude, and murmured, "Thank you. You are indescribable, do you know that?"

Returning a playful smirk, Angelica remarked idly, "I try."

* * *

Though there had been much laughter and mirth exchanged between the two women, their afternoon concluded in a tearful embrace which left Angelica restless at the very imminent departure of the artist. She busied herself around the house as much as she could, but no amount of embroidery or literature could distract her from the feeling of unease within her, both at the prospect of losing Maria Cosway and at the memory of her recent promise regarding Thomas Jefferson.

She knew exactly how to combat her dejected anxiety, however. And the sun had not fully dipped below the horizon before she made her way to visit him, tracing the same picturesque route he had shown her a few weeks previously, before she had become deeply and irrevocably attached to Mr Jefferson.

But when she arrived at his home, she was invited in by a maid and lead to his salon only to discover he was not alone. Dismissing the servant and lingering on the external side of the wooden panel, Angelica couldn't resist listening to what was being said:

"Of course, I understand. It is not your choice to leave, it is the decision of that _fool_ , Richard." A hint of bitterness entered Thomas' voice, however he audibly forced himself to regain some composure as he continued, "I am glad you warned me."

"You have our dearest Angelica to thank for that," the second voice, easily identifiable as Maria's, admitted.

"Angelica?" Thomas sounded surprised.

"Yes. She has promised me she will ease any pain you might feel at my departure through all methods she has at her disposal," Maria informed him, matter-of-factly.

A chuckle, and then the bemused remark, "You are sending your friend to take your place, knowing how fond of her I am? You truly _are_ leaving us behind, aren't you." It was unclear whether he meant _us_ as in reference to his relationship with Maria or his potential romance with Angelica, but either would fit, given the circumstances.

Sighing, Maria decided, "Whatever you believe, this is not easy for me. I _do_ care about you, because you are a very dear friend to me, but that is all. And as for Mrs Church, if I did not love her so much I should fear her rivalship. But no, I give you free permission to love her with all your heart."

Angelica's jaw dropped, her own sturdy heart trembling at the mere mention of love. She knew Maria had advised her on many occasions to indulge in some extramarital activity with Thomas, but never had _love_ been part of that deal. It was always based on physical attraction and being intellectually matched. And yet to Thomas, the gifted young painter suggested something else entirely.

Silence followed, and after a moment, Angelica heard footsteps drawing closer. With no time to hide, she tried to feign innocence as Maria pushed open the door and regarded her with surprise, which swiftly became comprehension. Voice low to leave Jefferson oblivious to his latest guest, she inferred, "You heard?"

"You think he could _love_ me? That _I_ could love _him_?" Angelica checked with palpable disbelief, stunned somewhat but matching Maria's decreased volume even so.

"Of course. I want you both to find joy, Angelica, and languishing in your loveless marriage will not grant you that, I can guarantee from my own experience. What you need is love, physical and emotional, and I know that you would find plenty of both with Jefferson." She spoke with certainty, recounting information she regarded as fact rather than merely suggesting advice, not even the tiniest indication of any doubt whatsoever.

Her friend was not entirely convinced, however, reminding the artist, "It is not as though I have _never_ loved John. I chose him, I _eloped_ with him, surely all of our mutual affection hasn't faded entirely, so I can't betray our vows."

Smiling sadly, Maria truthfully illuminated for her, "Nothing can last forever, and that was a long time ago. And anyway, you had already fallen in love with your brother in law within three years of marrying Mr Church."

Even more shocked by the unabashed comment, Angelica began to stutter her reply, only to be cut off, "I never told you -"

"- Because you didn't need to. That doesn't make it less true, and it doesn't mean that you don't still long for a distraction. He's sitting just on the other side of that door, and he could use some support right now."

Dumbfounded for once in her life, there was nothing for Angelica to do but nod.

Again, Maria embraced her, holding on tight, turning her head to kiss Angelica's cheek and breathe into her ear, "Be happy, my dear Angelica, and remember that joy can be found anywhere at all."

With that, she walked away, abandoning the former Schuyler woman alone in the hallway.

After taking a minute to compose herself and dry her budding tears, she knocked on the door and pushed it open to find Thomas staring vacantly out of the window. He turned immediately to face her when she entered, forgetting his own tears before he registered the pity in her dark, enrapturing gaze. Swiping at his dampened cheeks in frustration, he muttered, "I'm sorry, forgive me, you weren't meant to see me like this."

"Please, don't be ashamed. We have both lost a friend," the guest replied gently, closing the door behind her.

After a heartbeat, Jefferson murmured, "Thank you. For being here, for being good to me." His gaze dropped, his words uncharacteristically hesitant as he struggled to admit, "Before she left, she told me... She said I was free..." He swallowed, visibly struggling to keep his dignity and self-control.

Overwhelmed with empathy, Angelica finished, "She said you are free to love me with all your heart."

She closed her eyes momentarily, Maria's final words ringing in her ears and echoing through her brain, _Be happy, my dear Angelica_. Slowly opening them again and meeting Thomas' rare, vulnerable expression, she decided, "And you are."

Forgetting her hesitations, crushing her nerves, releasing her inhibitions and for the first time in her life prioritizing herself over anyone else, she crossed the room in confident strides, placed her hands on either side of his face and met his bewildered expression with a sweet, hopeful smile which, after a single rapid heartbeat, Thomas mirrored.

She kissed him, pulling him to her and holding tight and relishing the feeling of passionate lips pushing back against her own, meeting her lips with unleashed lust and strange awe and maybe, somewhere amongst the fire building within them, a spark of true, deep adoration.

But in that instant, the hidden implications were the very last thing on her mind; she was consumed entirely with the dizzying euphoria of taking a risk, jumping into the abyss and being caught by unexpectedly tender hands and unexpectedly soft lips.

She lost herself to the kiss, deciding then and there that, at least for the time being, it made no difference if it was love or not.

It felt good, it felt _right_ , and so she did not stop.

* * *

 **A/N: GET IN THERE BABE!**

 **This concludes part 1, in which the relationship is first established (you remember that weird structure thing I said about a while ago? Yeah, that.) Part 2 is coming soon, and it is to be entitled "How do you say 'Kiss me'?"**

 **(Do you see where I'm finding my part names?)**

 **Anyway, thanks again for reading! Stay healthy, my dearest darlingest readers, you are too precious to be sick.**


	6. 5 - How do you say Kiss me? pt 1

**A/N: WADDUP GUYS! Thanks for being patient, I've had a lot of stuff on this week. But we're here with the first instalment of part 2, and if you wanted more actual Jeffergelica, well, your wish is my command! And to the guest who suggested a story with Lafayette coming to defend Hamilton to Jefferson, firstly I love hearing suggestions for stories, and secondly that sounds like a really good idea! I might tweak it a bit, and it will take a while, but that's going on my list of future fanfics!**

 **And yes, the part names are inspired by In The Heights. Which I don't own, nor do I own or profit from Hamilton. This is just for fun! So on with the show!**

* * *

 _ **Chapter 5: How do you say "Kiss me"? - Part I**_

 _ **Paris, Summer 1787**_

In the months following her first kiss with Thomas Jefferson, it quickly emerged that Angelica Schuyler Church owed a lot to Maria Cosway. No longer pining helplessly for her family across the sea and feeling guilty for the stirrings of her heartstrings every time her esteemed brother in law was mentioned in passing, she was finally beginning to fully appreciate the beauty of Paris. Ironically, it was a beauty which Thomas had been the first to introduce her to during that first platonic stroll about the city they had taken, which was some months ago now, and it was also Thomas who enticed her heart, causing her to genuinely adore the birthplace of her most exciting affair.

The pangs of guilt, though violent when they surfaced, were few and far between, as were the extended periods of time spent with her husband. Instead, she chose to pass her days with Jefferson, taking in the air in the city or his gardens, (both of them grew to greatly prefer the privacy offered by the latter) or having philosophical debates as she used to with her Father in the days before he decided she was growing too old to be allowed to share her opinions, or watching with fascinated interest as he wrote for hours on end, unafraid and unreserved about offering her own astute observations or intelligent advice to him as he crafted paragraph after paragraph of eloquent words and phrases. Those days were her favourites, the ones when she could truly forget she had ever made the mistake of marrying John Church, and any ideas of her brother in law were only mild ponderings regarding whether he would be doing similar things with her beloved sister at that precise moment in time.

And of course, every meeting without fail inevitably resulted in a mischievous smirk, an unspoken dare, before one of the unofficial couple dragged the other to their lips and engulfed them in a deep, heated kiss, hands becoming bolder as the weeks passed, teasing at shirt collars and corset buttons and belt buckles but never actually unlocking the forbidden fruit.

But that didn't matter. A single kiss from Thomas was infinitely more exciting than a night spent with her rightful husband between her legs, so Angelica was happy to simply relish the newness and exhilaration which left her breathless rather than pursuing something more.

For the time being, at least.

* * *

It was an evening suspiciously similar to the one upon which the pair had first encountered one another, this time a ball in honour of some unknown politician's birthday, that the dynamics of their relationship changed in a major way. It was the first time they had appeared together at a large social engagement, and simultaneously the first evening where Mr Church and Mr Jefferson were both in attendance following the recent developments between the American and the Briton's wife. And, as was the case with every single engagement Angelica attended on her husband's arm, any joviality of the evening was lost on her. Absentmindedly trying to distract herself from the dull task of occupying the space on John's forearm and smiling blankly at all those she was introduced to, she decided, _If there is a downside to spending time with Thomas, it is that it throws a sharply illuminating light on how boring my life without him is by comparison._

A tap on her shoulder, then a beckoning grin from the man as he withdrew from her side, and she was quickly reminding herself, The abundant benefit is that I have a reprieve from the monotonous life as the bride of an unstimulating attempted-politician. She tapped John on the shoulder, distracting him from his conversation as she apologised, "Love, would you mind if I went to fetch myself a drink? I'm suddenly parched; it's very humid in here, don't you think?" _Of course, the overbearing pretension you adopt at this kind of gathering is equally stifling,_ she added silently, though of course the sharp words would not manifest on her lips.

Though it was phrased like a question, Church could only agree, "Of course, dear, you must stay hydrated in this heat." Before she had even retreated, he had returned to conversing with the two strangers Angelica hadn't bothered to learn the names of and chuckling, "It's only to be expected that a woman is more susceptible to the feeble warmth - still, Mrs Church is a handsome woman, so we must cut her some slack and permit her to indulge!"

His comrades laughed in tandem with John himself, none of them noticing that Angelica bristled at the display of blatant disrespect shown by her own husband. Any trace of remorse troubling her dissipated in that instant, and without feeling any obligation to force a pleasant smile, she fixed the three men with an icy glare cool enough to freeze their laughter at once. Satisfied, she whirled around, skirts swirling around her in an elegant cloud of coral as she stalked away from the trio towards a table laden with glasses of wine: in truth she had intended to make her way straight to her illicit lover, but following that event she genuinely felt desperately in need of some alcohol.

She picked up a glass of wine from a table at the side of the room and took a large quantity of it in a single swallow, only stopping when she felt a brave hand settling on her waist and pulling her gently into a familiar embrace. Though her eyes were closed, the familiar heady scent of a perfume which in itself indicated wealth beyond reason and the tickle of breath against her neck as she heard a hushed southern accent murmur into her ear, "That looked tough, my dearest Angelica. The way you deal with that horrid husband of yours is truly admirable, if not lamentable. So, mind if I help you forget about it?"

A smile striking her lips involuntarily at the bizarrely soothing presence of Jefferson at her side, Angelica set down her wine glass, turning to the taller man and feigning surprise as she remarked, "You're being terribly bold, Mr Jefferson, Sir. Aren't you forgetting that I am not _yours_ to hold by the waist and to whisper sweet comforts to?"

His smug grin growing and consuming his entire expression to radiate out of him, Jefferson revealed, "Not at all. I know your husband is just metres away, and I also know he does not deserve you. Which is partly why nothing would give me so much pressure in this moment as to share the next dance with you, to elicit as much jealousy from him as he does from me." As Angelica hesitated out of loyalty to the admittedly infuriating man whose surname she shared, Jefferson leaned even closer, bringing his forehead just millimetres from hers as he confessed, "The other reason is that I would adore the opportunity to hold you close to me, regardless of the circumstances."

With words so charming and brown eyes which seemed to melt into a thousand shades of orange and red and gold when the setting summer sun struck them, the eldest former Schuyler sister found herself unable to refuse. With an indulgent smile, she took hold of the hand of his which wasn't already on her waist, and placed her free hand on his shoulder. Standing closer than was conventionally accepted between anything less than a married couple and pretending she couldn't sense the many pairs of accusing eyes burning into them both, Angelica responded coquettishly, "In which case, your wish is my command."

* * *

It was not simply the next dance which they shared; they spent hours twirling and skipping across the ballroom floor, shamelessly giggling and allowing daring hands to slip into familiar positions, lingering stares to never be broken, and flirtatious comments to be exchanged just a whisper too loudly. The second of Jefferson's aims was undoubtedly achieved, and after just over two hours, it became clear that the first had also come to completion.

There were only so many questions John Church could stomach regarding the small, insignificant matter of his wife and an intelligent American man he knew she had been spending increasing amounts of time with recently before his growing suspicions led him to feel that he had no option but to interrupt, placing a hand on Jefferson's shoulder to push him gently but firmly away as he took Angelica by the wrist, breaking her overly comfortable physical contact with the man. As soon as he touched her, a repressed shock of culpability charged through her bloodstream, making her meek and obedient as he greeted with forced civility, "My dear, I am sorry to interrupt, but I have decided that you must go home." Glancing between her half-concealed disappointment and Jefferson's open disgust, he justified, "It's getting late, I will be here for another few hours, at least, and I'm sure you must be feeling rather disconsolate, what with me being preoccupied elsewhere." He didn't say as much, but he was quite frankly telling his bride that he believed she should and could only ever be happy in his company. While Angelica remained still and placid with practiced indifference, Thomas allowed murderous loathing to flood his dark brown eyes.

Every instinct within Angelica urged her to argue. Everything, that is, except from the blinding realization that she had intentionally spent the majority of the evening in the arms of her secret lover, knowing full well that her own husband watched on. And though a part of her _had_ wanted to harm his reputation, to mock him like he had done to her, she couldn't help but allow her conscience to alter her reply. So instead of refusing, she simply nodded, dredged up a smile, and agreed, "Of course, Love. You're so thoughtful." Her words lacked conviction, but she knew in her heart that John wouldn't notice. She also knew that he wouldn't be able to distinguish the difference between a show of true marital affection and an action intended only to silence any remaining whispers placing her name with Thomas', which is precisely what she was doing when she turned to kiss him.

It was nothing compared to the kisses she shared with Jefferson, but it was evidently more than enough to soothe and muzzle her husband's paranoia, as he smiled, shook Jefferson's hand, and returned to his previous conversation, trusting that his bride would soon make her way home.

And indeed she did - or at least, she tried to. The only thing she could offer to Thomas was an apologetic shrug, and then she was darting through the guests to make her way out of the door and into the street. But with his pride and heart injured in equal measure, Jefferson would not allow her to escape him so easily. He followed in her footsteps, breaking onto the street outside just moments after her, to find the Parisian night empty and mostly silent.

Silent save for the panting of a stressed woman just a few metres away, leaning back against the wall of the building as she tried to reassemble her nerves and reclaim her usual collected demeanour. Upon seeing that Jefferson had chased after her, however, her efforts came to an immediate halt, and she warned him as he slowly approached her, "Don't, Thomas. Don't say a word, don't do a thing, just turn around and go back inside. Spend the rest of your night like an ordinary politician, like John."

Ignoring her demands, he stepped closer, trying to console her clear panic, "Angelica -"

"Jefferson, don't take another step towards me. I swear, I'll scream if you do; I told you, _I'm not yours to hold."_

Cocking an eyebrow in sceptical confusion, Jefferson remarked, "I don't understand what's wrong or what's happening in your mind, but if _either_ of us has a right to be irritated, it is definitely me. You just kissed another man right in front of me, Angelica! Are you _trying_ to make me even more envious than the ring on your finger already condemns me to be?" His true frustration seeped into his words, causing the volume to rise, and he was close to shouting as his sentence concluded.

 _"Another man?"_ She laughed without humour as she continued, "Must I really remind you that this _other man_ you speak of is my husband? I have kissed him, only for you to treat it as some heinous crime! _That_ is what's wrong, Thomas - my poor husband just saw you and I together. He saw me smiling more than he has made me in all of our years together during those two hours I spent in your arms, and regardless of what I think of him, I can't help but pity the man." Lowering her gaze as well as her voice, she mumbled, "It's not right. People will get hurt."

"Angie, stop being ridiculous," Jefferson scolded, but his words were soft. Somehow, he could never manage to be truly angry at her. In spite of her threats, he courageously closed the distance between them, lifting her chin so she had no choice but to meet his intense eyes as he continued with fierce insistence, "That man doesn't deserve you. Maybe he was hurt when he saw us together, but I must inform you of the uncomfortable fact that he didn't even _look_ at you once when you were actually there with him. If igniting his envy is the only way you can entice him to care, then I'm afraid he is not worth the effort." A shadow crossed her face, creasing her brow, and he recognized she was wavering. Capitalizing on the opportunity, he pressed his lips to hers, a gentle, sweet kiss filled with warmth and genuine affection. And though her better judgment wailed in helpless protest, her rational mind and pounding heart gave in, alleviating all of the rigid tension which had filled her body and weighed down her every limb and instead allowing her to melt into Jefferson, their bodies slotting together as though they were crafted specifically to do just that.

As Angelica snaked her slender arms around Thomas' neck and buried her fingers in his thick mane, pulling him closer and leaning back into the wall behind her, his mouth moved from hers, tracing a line from the corner of her lips to her jaw and then onto her neck, pulling aside the fabric of her dress with his teeth to kiss down to her collar bone. Her breath hitched under his kisses, and she realized with a shock that she knew precisely what she wanted to happen next - and if she remained there, pressed against the wall of a building where her husband tried to make advantageous contacts to elevate his status whilst her lover lavished his adoration onto every exposed area of her skin, she suspected that it might just become a reality. Beginning to stammer, caught by surprise from the heat building within her, she muttered, "I should be going home... I told John I would."

Lifting his mouth from where it connected with her flesh, Jefferson replied in a husky tone, "Why don't you stop worrying about _John_?" It took another heartbeat for him to muster the courage to suggest, "Why don't you come home with _me_ instead?"

Surely some sort of warning ought to have flashed through her brain, chilling her increasing passion and bringing her back to the reality of her dreary life. But she rationalized that the fact that the only thing she felt was a deep, almost animalistic stirring of unreserved lust deep in her stomach spoke volumes about what was right and what was not. And so, she decided to crush any lingering uncertainty, turning her back on her husband and shedding her wedding ring for that night.

Of course, upon arrival at Jefferson's house, it was not only her wedding ring which left her body. But in exchange for propriety and modesty and reservation and clothes, she got gentle caresses, tantalizing fingers exploring the canvas of her body, and smirking, smug lips which roamed over every square inch, relishing the sweet taste of her skin, as well as finally receiving the long-awaited pleasure which she had been promised as she squirmed under Thomas, groaning and grasping and struggling for breath as it continued to be stolen in the most intimate of ways.

And when it was done, she found that she could not think of a single regret. There was nothing but blissful satisfaction as she laid comfortably atop Thomas' bare chest, an arm around her waist and another cradling her hip, the man humming softly as he waited for her to fall into a deep, luxurious slumber.

* * *

 **A/N: Aww these cuties! They doin the dooooo!**

 **I make no promises about when this will be updated, but it's getting juicy so I really hope to set aside the time to add some more as soon as possible. Thanks so much for reading, reviewing and following - it motivates me more than you know!**


	7. 6 - How do you say Kiss me? pt 2

**A/N: Hey readers! Once again, I am so sorry this took a long time, I promise you I am working on this as regularly as exams and revision will allow. Even now, I am writing this note on the school bus! Thanks for being patient, I really appreciate it.**

 **So, here we have Angie being conscientious, Jefferson being domestic amd Hamilton being a player. Enjoy!**

* * *

 _ **Chapter 6: How do you say "Kiss me" - Part II**_

 _ **Paris, Summer 1787**_

When Angelica awoke the following morning in an unfamiliar, oversized bed made larger by the absence of a second figure lying beside her, the first thought to occur to her was that she was not at home. And that meant her husband, but more importantly her children, had no clue as to her true location. As the guilt which the conscientious woman had somehow managed to successfully avoid during the pleasurable proceedings of the previous night finally sank in, she couldn't help but criticize herself, _You have been disloyal to your doting husband, you have forgotten your duties as a Mother, and what for? To wake up alone in the bed of a man you care for as a friend and a lover, but who is now clearly too ashamed of what has taken place here to even lay beside you, let alone consider you as either of those things ever again._

Had she taken a moment to breathe and to recall the intensity and passion of the night before without immediately reminding herself of the potentially drastic consequences, she would have found that the cause of at least half of her concerns was a fabrication of her own imagination: true, she _had_ prioritized her own hedonistic enjoyment of life above that of anyone else for the first time she could ever remember; however the man for whom she had forgotten the bond the ring temporarily absent from her left hand enforced was better than her early morning pessimism gave him credit for.

She hadn't thought to reach across to the other side of the bed, but if she had, she would have discovered it was still warm, only recently vacated. And it was not to remain that way, because no sooner had Angelica resigned herself to be suffocated by the crushing combination of guilt, shame and regret than her lover returned, the wide grin spread lazily across his face somehow infecting her and chasing away her internal conflict to some extent. He carried with him a tray, and the next words to leave his mouth stunned her far more than anything they had done the night before: "Good morning, Miss Schuyler. I thought you might be hungry after last night, so I fixed us some breakfast."

As shocked at being met by the man displaying the polar opposite of her worst assumptions as she was to see him pretending to be some sort of domestic caterer, Angelica couldn't help but inhale sharply and pull the blankets draped carelessly across her all the way up to her neck to better protect her modesty - a futile effort, given the marks which confirmed he had seen and touched and kissed much more of her body than she currently displayed. Stammering at the surprise of being caught off guard, she muttered, "Thomas... I didn't expect... I thought -"

"Angelica, please, you're allowed to relax. You should know that I am hardly here to criticize you, so there is no need for you to be so self-conscious," Jefferson informed her, coming to slip under the scarce corner of the duvet which his lover had not claimed as a substitute for a robe. He set the tray laden with pastries and fruit down on his lap and invited her, "Eat something." She eyed the food sceptically, suddenly analysing everything to excessive levels, wondering if he was being accommodating, or attempting to establish a polite and civil atmosphere to distance himself from the heated one from the previous night, or whether he was perhaps simply thanking her for her services. Confused by her hesitation and the uncharacteristic quietness displayed by the woman lying in his bed, Jefferson urged, "Come on, you can't pretend you're not worn out. You need some energy, and while you're at it, you need to explain what's going on."

Prompted more by a growling in her stomach than by Jefferson's instructions, Angelica sighed and reached for a pastry. She took a bite, chewing slowly as she considered how to phrase her explanation. Once she swallowed, she began to bashfully justify her reaction to him. Voice low and thick, she admitted, "I didn't know what to expect from you this morning, and it certainly wasn't... This." She gestured to the tray and the pastry from which she was taking a second bite already. Growing even more awkward, she confessed, "I was afraid you'd be ready to scorn me and toss me from your home as soon as it fully set in."

Even less comprehending despite her effort to make him understand, he raised an eyebrow to critically clarify, "When _what_ set in, exactly?"

The woman's dark eyes darted away from his, and even in the early morning half-light glowing softly through the curtains, he registered the blush on her cheeks. She said nothing, but she didn't need to.

Finally seeing the reason for her unexpected reaction caused the politician an unexpected ache in his chest as he realized that she didn't trust that he cared enough for her to truly and absolutely relish every moment of the night they had shared together. Even so, he knew it was his job to comfort her, and he did just that, tucking her tousled curls behind her ear and simultaneously caressing her cheek as he promised her, "You're right that it has taken some time to fully come to terms with what happened last night, but that is purely because such an ethereal experience naturally cannot be comprehended without significant effort. And I assure you, Angelica, that is most definitely a good thing."

Some of the tension she carried with her visibly lifted from her shoulders, and she even braved a smile, which swiftly became an unrestrained giggle of delight as her lover reinforced his esteem for her by pressing a teasing kiss to her lips. She could not turn away from her concerns indefinitely, however, as when Thomas pulled away, the first query from her newly liberated lips was, "Aren't you afraid of people finding out? The consequences could be -"

" _Sorry_ , I was under the impression that you had agreed to remove John's fragile English heart from your mind," Jefferson interrupted, a plaintive note to his words reflecting his evident displeasure towards the indication that lending the headstrong, selfless woman his hospitality, blankets and heart was still an offering insufficient to win her undivided focus and adoration in the exposing light of day.

"It's not primarily John I'm worried about, you stubborn man," she playfully criticized him with a taunting smirk and a childish nudge in the side, which became an excuse to simply lean into him, leading him to remove the breakfast tray from his lap to sit on the bedside table to give her room to get comfortable, and formed an invitation for him to wrap her slender form in his sturdy embrace as she gave in to his gentle persuasion and carefree attitude. Even so, she proceeded to voice her true fears, "We both have young children, and if they should find out –"

"Then there is no reason why they should be anything less than relieved that their parents have found happiness at long last." She frowned at him and shifted marginally further from his side, unimpressed both by the impossibly idyllic scenario he painted as well as the way he continuously interrupted her very valid points – something he knew her intimately enough to recognise almost as soon as he made the dire mistake of interrupting a Schuyler woman not once, but twice. Hastily backtracking without being explicitly informed of the obvious fact that his course of action was precisely the one he was expected to take if he wanted to remain on good terms with the woman in his bed, he amended, "I'm sorry, I know you have reservations, and you have every right to be perturbed. But I am sure that within time, any child sharing your gift for perception would see how desperately unhappy you are with your husband, and would be compassionate enough to endorse anything which saves you from your loneliness."

Resting her head comfortably back on Thomas' chest and allowing herself to be soothed by the strong, unhurried pulsing of his heart which seemed to reflect his approach to life itself, she did not argue so much as plainly state the truth when she reminded him impassively, "You are a widow." _Or you are a man who does everything within your power to pretend that is not the case. Even so, I'm sure your daughters do not share your desire to forget about your wife's untimely passing._

Jefferson regarded her with a strange expression in the seconds before he realised what she meant by the apparently unrelated remark. Once he recognised the source of her lingering concerns, he instantly confirmed, "I have experienced enormous loss, as have my daughters. And I am certain that they would rejoice over any addition to my life which provides the warmth and sunlight to chase away the shadows lingering on my heart with which you have provided me."

His sultry southern voice murmuring sweet compliments as his moving lips brushed against her ear and his breath tickled the sensitive flesh of her neck made a combination which was almost fatal to Angelica's will. _Almost_ , but not quite. She had one last qualm which had to be addressed, though only after she tilted her head up to sweetly kiss his jaw. He took the opportunity to lavish more attention on her lips, and she succumbed to his hot mouth and probing tongue, granting him the privilege of kissing her deeply whilst she responded with matching passion, mumbling in those brief moments when their mouths were not too extensively intertwined for her to release a few fleeting words, "How do you know?"

Not reducing the pace and passion with which his mouth moved, Thomas mumbled, "A Father knows these things." He would have been happy to continue relishing the precious moments spent with the still-nude enchantress whose blankets were starting to slip further down her body, but something within him – conscience, perhaps – prioritized ensuring the woman was fully contented with his resolution to her issue above his own wants. And so, he broke apart from her momentarily to suggest, "If it would please you, I could send for my girls, introduce them to you and your family so that you can see their kind, forgiving temperaments for yourself."

Taken by surprise yet again by an unprecedented side to Jefferson in the short time since waking, Angelica's dark eyes widened, melting into rich, round pools of brown as she confirmed, albeit slightly disbelievingly, "I would like that. Providing it's not too much of an inconvenience for you," she added, not quite able to come to terms with the sensitive generosity her lover was showing her.

Jefferson's usual self assured grin returned, as he confirmed in a low murmur, "My dearest Angelica, there are no inconveniences where you're concerned."

"Is that right?" She bit her bottom lip as a grin to mirror his lit her own features with relief and affection, and she drew closer to him once more as she declared, "Flattery can get you anywhere, Mr Jefferson."

"I'm glad to hear it, Mrs Church. But you know, it's not just flattery, I -" he was cut off as she returned her lips to his, as enthusiastic as he was to capitalize on the rare opportunity they had to be together now that her worries had been explained away, taking with them any shred of reticence. No longer preoccupied with words, he allowed his mouth to attend to an entirely different matter regarding the woman who no amount of flattery could realistically do justice to. All anxiety forgotten, she arched into him, pulling him closer and closing her eyes in sheer bliss as his experienced hands slipped under the blankets and traced the curves of her body, coming to find her thigh and massaging at her soft skin. Her fingertips traced the line of his spine, causing a shiver to run through Jefferson's body and provoking him to bite her lip as an automatic reflex.

She moaned, enjoying the sensual energy flooding her body, and tossed her head back to invite more kissed on her neck. As her heavy lidded eyes fluttered open, however, she caught sight of a ray of dawn sunlight bouncing off of a familiar trinket placed on the bedside table. Heaving a reluctant sigh, she retracted her hands from Thomas' body and pushed herself away from his hungry hands and keen mouth, suddenly remembering, "I should be leaving, before people start to worry about my whereabouts."

It was too soon for the woman to escape from him, leaving him to return to her own miserable normality, but Jefferson knew she was right. He was also not so deluded that he didn't know already that he would never willingly be parted from Angelica Schuyler Church, and that no amount of time with her could ever be enough. And so, knowing that he couldn't make her stay, he didn't protest, only watched idly as she left his bed, set about locating the various different pieces of her elegant ensemble from the night before and donned her gown once more. It did not escape his attention that the very last item to return to it's rightful place was the golden ring on her left hand, yet he knew better than to question her; for all her own talent at reading others, Angelica did not take well to being analysed herself.

As she leaned over to kiss him goodbye, he had only a few words for her, "Will we be doing this again?"

Angelica raised an eyebrow suggestively as a smirk curved her lips into the shape of a crescent moon. With no trace of her earlier issues manifesting in her expression, there was nothing but absolute certainty in her voice as she replied, "Of course, Thomas. I look forward to it."

* * *

Half way down the path leading from the Jefferson household, the sound of racing footsteps approaching from behind her had compelled Angelica to turn around, in time to see Thomas skidding to a halt a foot away and offering to walk her home. However, she thought better of being escorted to her husband's home by the man with whom she had spent the night, lest John Church should show some uncharacteristic wit and see at once what had passed between the pair. And so, she returned home alone, enjoying the summer air of the city as she made her way along the familiar route, pondering as she did so about the excuse she would offer to her husband. _Perhaps claim I was not out all night. Something along the lines of, "Darling, I'm so sorry that I didn't leave a note, but after returning home I promptly felt quite ill after all of the heat in that claustrophobic atmosphere I had just vacated, so I decided to take a stroll about the city to cool myself down." And then, as for my absence this morning, "I suppose I must have taken more wine than I ought to have last night, because I woke with a pounding headache, and again my remedy was to take the air rather than disturb you with any complaints." After all, he has no real reason to doubt my word - he'd probably prefer that I truly was drunk last night rather than know that I willingly spent hours dancing with Thomas at the event._

However, it soon emerged that for the second time that morning, her careful consideration of the following events was entirely unnecessary. It was not John who opened the door, but a maid, who appeared somewhat surprised to be greeting her mistress but not to such an extent that she questioned it. As such, Angelica was free to make her way to Mr Church's study, knocking on the door before entering with a slightly timid, "Good morning, my love."

"Morning, dear," John responded distractedly, flipping through a pile of papers which he clearly found to be infinitely more interesting than his bride. "You slept well, I take it?" He checked his watch, noting, "You must have, for you to wake up this late in the morning."

Angelica was momentarily dumbfounded, utterly at a loss for words - _sleep well? I haven't even explained where I slept yet_ \- and then it struck her, a cold blast of water on her radiant mood: _He didn't even notice I was gone_. In a way it was justifiable, after all despite their marital status, Angelica often clung to the very edge of their shared bed, placing as much space between herself and her husband as possible. She always told him it was so that the air could circulate around her in the night so that she didn't overheat, and yet in spite of that she always shrouded herself in as many blankets as she could gather together, so much so that it was not unheard of that he didn't even see the woman sharing a bed with him. His failure to observe her absence flattened the very last of her doubts regarding her morality, reminding her that Jefferson was correct when he told her that her husband did not treat her with the attention she deserved. It was a relief to know that she had immediately been offered a watertight alibi, and as such she smiled sweetly and truthfully told him, "I slept wonderfully, thank you dear." _The best night I've had in years,_ she added silently, though she respected him enough that she didn't say so aloud.

Filled with renewed confidence, she left her husband alone, seeing no reason why she should loiter in his office, and made her way to her own bedroom so that she could change out of her crumpled gown into something more appropriate for her day to day activities. She dared not ask for the assistance of any servants, still slightly paranoid about any suspicion they might form, so she was entirely alone as she did her best to lace up a fresh corset and pull on a clean blouse, before replacing her large skirt with a far less creased one.

It gave her a strange kind of peace, as if shedding the evidence of her illicit affair and allowing her to proceed whilst remaining inconspicuous. It sent a thrill of excitement through her just to think of it - or more specifically, of _him_ \- of returning to Thomas' strong embrace and losing herself to the dizzying pleasure of being _with him_ in every sense of the phrase.

Her private fantasies were disturbed, however, by a hesitant knock at the door. Not John, he wouldn't knock, and not one of her children, because they would simply call. With a sigh, she invited, "Come in," and sure enough another maid entered the room, carrying with her a folded slip of paper.

"A letter from the United States, Mrs Church," she offered by way of explanation, placing the note in her mistress' suddenly eager hands and retreating from whence she came with a hasty bow. Alone again, Angelica took no time at all to run her finger across the familiar handwriting, recognizing it at once as that belonging to her brother in law. As though Thomas Jefferson had never been introduced to her, a rush of anxious anticipation caused her heart to flutter, and she wasted no time in tearing the seal from the paper to unlock Alexander's enrapturing words:

* * *

 _My Dearest Angelica,_

 _I this morning wrote a short and hasty line to your other self and did not then expect I should have been able to find a moment for the more agreeable purpose of dropping a line to you. Your husband has too much gallantry to be offended at this implication of preference. But I can not, however great my hurry, resist the strong desire I feel of thanking you for your invaluable letter by the last packet. Imagine, if you are able, the pleasure it gave me. Notwithstanding the compliment you pay to my eloquence, its resources could give you but a feeble image of what I should wish to convey._

 _This you will tell me is poetical enough. I seldom write to a lady without fancying the relation of lover and mistress. It has a very inspiring effect. And in your case the dullest materials could not help feeling that propensity._

 _I have a great opinion of your discernment and therefore I venture to rant. If you read this letter in a certain mood, you will easily divine that in which I write it._

 _You ladies despise the pedantry of punctuation. There was a most critical comma in your last letter. It is my interest that it should have been designed; but I presume it was accidental. Unriddle this if you can. The proof that you do it rightly may be given by the omission or repetition of the same mistake in your next._

 _So Mr. Church resolves to be a parliament-man. I had rather see him a member of our new Congress; but my fervent wish always is that much success may attend all his wishes. I am ⟨sincerely⟩ attached to him as well as to yourself._

 _We are all well here. Your father and mother are better than they have been for a long time past. Betsey sends her love. I do not choose to say joins in mine. Tis old fashioned._

 _Despairing of seeing you here my only hope is that the jumble of events will bring us together in Europe. I speak not from any immediate project of the sort but from a combination of possible circumstances._

 _Wherever I am believe always that there is no one can pay a more sincere or affectionate tribute to your deserts than I do—_

 _Adieu ma chere, soeur_

 _A Hamilton_

* * *

 _Oh Alexander, what have you done to me_ , she wondered, hating that a single letter from her sister's husband had the ability to rouse that all too familiar ache in her chest, an ache she had hardly felt since spending so much time with her new lover. Her brother in law missed her, that was certain. He wished to be reunited with her - well, the feeling was very much mutual. And then, most alarmingly of all, that comma:

In her last letter to him, sent so long ago that she had hardly been able to imagine the unbelievable alterations made to her love life in the near future, she had placed a single erroneous comma herself, lending a different, more suggestive meaning to a phrase, a test to see whether or not he cared enough about her to notice it. And had not disappointed, responding not only with an acknowledgement, but a comma of his own.

 _Is this his attempt to convey that he loves me as more than a sister? And what of my dear Eliza, has he forgotten her?_ She was completely sure that she should not be so happy about that letter, not just because of Eliza, but because of Thomas. _Thomas Jefferson_ , who had promised her that he would do anything within his power to make her happy, who brought her pastries and fruit in bed, and who gave her the most real, intense, raw pleasure, emotionally and physically, that no man before him had ever matched.

She loved Alexander Hamilton, and that was a brutal reality from which she could not escape. On the other hand, she simultaneously cared deeply for Thomas Jefferson, a man who didn't play Alexander's ridiculous games and simply gave her the gratification her love deserved. _And so maybe it is time to acknowledge that indulging in sharing enjoyment and chemistry with a man is by far the better option than pining for one who I could never really want to care for me..._

She kept that thought in mind, holding it close to her heart and being slowly surprised as recalling that idea through the day seemed to ease the familiar pang in her chest. She had spent the night with Thomas, and no teasing letter from her brother could detract from the enduring joviality the memories of their time together instilled in her.

Which is why, when her daughter, Catherine, sought her out later that day once her tutoring session was completed, Angelica confided with such eagerness that in good time, she would be introduced to a very dear friend of hers. It was, of course, the suggestion of Jefferson, part of his grand plan to reassure her sufficiently that she would feel less guilt at returning to his bed.

And regardless of any other factors, she _did_ fully intend to keep her word to him and return to his passionate embrace.

 **A/N: Yep, that's the letter with a comma after dearest. I will confess that I didn't actually intend to use that one, but it was sent closest to the date of the story soooo I figured it was a good one to use to make Angelica worry about who she is betraying.**

 **I will update as soon as possible, thanks so much for reading!**


	8. 7 - How do you say Kiss me? pt 3

**A/N: Hey everyone! First and foremost comes a very sincere apology for making you all wait this long (and the fact that this chapter is neither good nor long enough to compensate for that). I don't want to make excuses so all I can really say is that no matter how long it takes between chapters, I promise you I will not just abandon this story.**

 **Next comes the warning that this chapter is not as sexy as the previous two, it's more domestic and cute, (*cough*possibly OOC TJeffs *cough*) we begin to understand better the depth of emotion tying our lovers together, and we get to see Polly Jefferson and Kitty Cruger (née Church). I know TJeffs had 2 surviving daughters with his wife as well as the four surviving children of Sally Hemings (who he would have literally just met when Polly came from the USA) but those are being omitted from this chapter, as are the other children of Angelica, just so that the story doesn't get swarmed with kids who won't appear again.**

 **Also, on an entirely different note, the USA election happened, and a lot of my readers are American, so I just want to remind anyone who feels threatened by the result that you deserve to feel safe and secure in the country you call home, and no one has the right to take that away from you. Stay strong, and take care.**

 **Now, thank you so much for your patience! Without further ado, let us commence!**

* * *

 _ **Chapter 7: How do you say "Kiss me" - Part III**_

 _ **Paris, Autumn 1787**_

Strong winds and smooth seas swiftly and safely delivered the youngest daughter of Thomas Jefferson to the shores of France within six weeks. Of course, the journey also took her at long last to the arms of her doting Father, who was not ashamed to admit that he had fiercely missed the little girl he had left behind in the United States while he took his position in France. In all probability, his heart would have grown to ache at the long separation so much that he would have requested she journey to France to keep him company with or without the influence of the enchantress he had become enamoured with during their time together. The fact that a promise to Angelica had been the very reason he had sent for his daughter was irrelevant to both Jeffersons upon their reunion; all that mattered to one another was to celebrate the glorious way in which parent and child were brought together.

Or at least, that was the case for a few hours, before a maid came to remind Jefferson that a certain guest was due to arrive soon. It was not unusual during those frivolous days when Angelica and Thomas' paths ran so close to one another for the woman to promise a fraction of her evening to her lover (allegedly to check on her dear friend) regardless of her other priorities, or for Thomas to invite her to his residence of a night under the mitigation of requiring her assistance in some political matter, thus their relationship remained relatively private. Although their inordinately frequent visits to one another had the potential to raise several questions, the two intellectuals worked well together, instinctively fabricating excuses for one another before they even informed the other of a desire to meet again, so it struck no one as particularly bizarre that Mrs Church should be scheduled to arrive at the Jefferson household late in the evening.

It was only when he remembered the visitor he had almost forgotten in his ecstasy to be reunited with his child that Thomas, recalling the agreement made in bed over a month ago upon that first morning that he awoke with an enchanting woman sleeping beside him, asked for Mrs Church to be instructed to bring with her any child who was available to attend their meeting.

Hence the occurrence that not even a day after arriving in what was destined to be her home for the next two years, Polly Jefferson was rapidly introduced to her father's lover, and her daughter, aged nine just like she was.

It would have been perfectly natural for a young girl of not even ten years to become overwhelmed by the situation, but ever her Father's daughter, she presented a confident demeanour as she greeted the guests, addressing them as soon as they entered the room where she and Jefferson waited for their companions, "Good evening. My name is Mary Jefferson, though if you are friends of Daddy's, you may call me Polly."

Though relatively surprised by the forward attitude of the child, Angelica held on to her composure as she responded, "It's good to make your acquaintance, Polly, particularly when your Father speaks so highly of you." She glanced to Jefferson, her formality slipping away slightly as she added, "I have waited a long time for this." _Not just to meet your daughter,_ her dark, soulful gaze seemed to convey, _but also to judge whether we can be forgiven for our actions by those who matter most to us._

Polly's striking resemblance in character to Jefferson (despite the fact that physically her appearance was more reminiscent of her late Mother) and the way she prioritized his well-being made itself abundantly clear when she replied, "That's very kind, Miss. Only, I hope Daddy doesn't talk about me too much - I think it would make him sad to think about me being left at home, and he should be happy!" The conscientious girl was perhaps wise beyond her years, forced to mature mentally before her age would have indicated she should by the loss of a Mother and four siblings, as well as a prolonged period of separation from her surviving parental figure. Yet it left a smart young woman prepared to place the needs of her loved ones above her own - an endearing quality in anyone, even a little girl, and something the eldest Church woman found she could relate to.

It became clear that Kitty Church, though almost without fail a more careful, reticent girl, was drawn to the newcomer. Typically, she was shy around new people, however it was a testament to how magnetic she found Polly's personality to be that she entered the conversation of her own accord with the coy comment, "Mother says you have had a very long journey."

"This is my daughter, Katherine," Angelica quickly introduced, so as not to give Thomas' daughter opportunity or reason to initiate formalities which she feared could them both to lose interest in the conversation.

Her plan succeeded, and Polly seamlessly replied, "I did! It was horrible, I can tell you all about it if you like." She wrinkled her nose and turned to her Father to add with a hint of plaintive criticism clouding her tone, "I would love to tell you the story over a cup of tea, but Daddy has neither leaves nor a tea urn!"

Kitty giggled, while Angelica noted, "Your father tends to have a preference for coffee. Still, if tea is your drink of choice, I have a lovely tea urn I think you'd like, I should try to find it and send it to you at some point." She sensed the man's gaze glance over her, and she silently began to hope he didn't think her plan to win his daughter's respect was by buying her favour, a small, anxious frown forming on her brow that her lover interpreted as critical.

Thomas blushed, flustered to be seen to be careless when it came to catering to his daughter's whims. Keen to appease her, he insisted, "If tea is what my little girl wants, then tea she will have. Soon enough, I promise I'll have all the tea you could ever wish for!" He declared his final statement with an extravagant flourish as he swept his arms about as if to emphasize the sheer unnecessarily excessive volume he intended to procure for Polly. Angelica giggled, warmed to see how he was so much more light-hearted with his daughter near him.

"Okay, Daddy," Polly agreed. Another idea struck her, and she suggested after a pause, "Instead of tea, then, perhaps Kitty and I could talk while you play your violin?"

Angelica's eyes opened wide, and caught off guard by the revelation about the man she assumed she knew inside out, her surprise was easily identified in her high pitched comment as she remarked, "I never knew you could play violin! You ought to have told me you were a talented musician." She raised an eyebrow, _actually_ criticizing him this time in a gesture he visibly cringed to notice.

Through gritted teeth, he countered, "I'm far from a talented musician. It is simply an old pastime of mine, and one in which I have not indulged for a long time." _Please, please, Angelica, don't force me to humiliate myself before you and our children - knowing how easily I become flustered in situations such as this, I can guarantee it won't be a pretty sight. And Polly, for her part, had better not press the matter,_ he silently decided. A religious man might have gone as far as to pray to be spared from the embarrassing scenario, however Jefferson was not religious, and he relied on the strength of his own willpower to deliver him safely from the precarious situation.

It was not Polly or Angelica who left him with no choice but to reprise his former skills as a violinist, but Kitty, who with the encouragement of a playful smirk from her new friend, shyly mentioned, "I would love to hear some music, especially the violin - it's my favourite."

Seeing her lover's clear reluctance to play and gradually growing sympathetic, Angelica softly began to chastise, "My love, if Mr Jefferson has refused -"

"Don't scold her, please," Jefferson quickly interrupted, more anxious to preserve the happiness of his mistress' child than his own dignity, for he saw that the possibility of sustaining his relationship with the woman he could often forget was even a mother was entirely reliant on whether or not she felt that her children would understand if ever they uncovered the truth. Turning to Kitty, he kindly decided, "I can't promise I will be worthy of your esteem, but I will do all I can to make my newest guest comfortable here." _And to subsequently impress her mother, if not with my pitiful lack of talent then with my attempt to win her over._

Angelica couldn't refrain from smiling despite herself as she locked eyes with Jefferson and saw optimistic determination reflected there. She was accustomed to the man who charmed her with his extravagant confidence bordering on arrogance, the same rational and analytical mind she had, and his provocative smirk, and admittedly she found him to be undeniably enticing. And yet, with the young girls he displayed an entirely unique persona, one that was unexpectedly pandering and selfless.

It was new, not to mention unfamiliar, but rather than startling her away, it only drew her further into the fantasy, showing her a depth to his character which made actually being with him seem a genuinely tangible dream.

Despite the swirling mist in her mind which forced her to consider her connection to Jefferson as something more than an illicit but ephemeral affair, Angelica was soon brought out of her trance-like reverie by the soft melody drifting all around her and seeming to engulf her.

She had been oblivious to Thomas' exit and return to the room, but now he had begun to play, all thoughts fled from her mind like birds from their nest at daybreak. She was vaguely aware of Kitty and Polly talking, her daughter cheerfully engaging in conversation with the stranger as comfortably as she would have with her own kin.

That realisation caused the doting mother's heart to swell with pride, and Angelica was consumed with something like bliss as she relaxed and allowed the elegant melodies to carry her soul to ethereal heights.

Conversation between the children turned into games with dolls pulled from trunks and comparisons of embroidery, and all the while Thomas kept playing, too focused on observing the girls to stop, watching enraptured at the interaction between the two children.

His daughter had been lonely, he knew that, and perhaps he should have guessed that Angelica's would be the same, even so it surprised him to see them bonding. Something which caught him off guard even more was that he felt the stirrings of domestic paternity rising within him from the heavy slumber any fatherly instincts of his had slipped into after he sent his elder daughter away to a Catholic school and allowed the other to remain in the States.

Much like his lover, Jefferson himself didn't expect himself to be so struck by a desire to please the children: it confused him, taunting his heart with the bittersweet wish to form a true family instead of the disjointed collection of two of his own estranged young girls, the offspring of his lover and another man, he the preoccupied father and an enchanting married woman he had learned to recognize as his. And yet, no matter how gorgeous the fantasy, or how it seemed to be such an attainable goal in that moment when they were there in the sitting room, there was the uncomfortable truth that the woman who was the key stone in the bridge to his imagined idea was through no fault of her own incapable of allowing it to be anything but an impossible notion.

 _Why distract from the present with something so disheartening as reality?_ He prevented his own mind from becoming too wound up in imagined scenarios with a sharp reminder that for the time being, he had all he wanted.

* * *

As time passed and light began to fade, the autumn chill infiltrated the house. When Polly yawned, Jefferson ceased his violin playing suddenly to briskly insist, "It's getting late, I think my daughter ought to retire to her room; it has been a long day for her."

"But Daddy!" Polly began to protest as though it was a reflex action that bypassed consideration entirely. "Kitty and I were having so much fun, you can't possibly make me go to bed now." She pouted, and for a heartbeat she seemed the spitting image of her Father when he was displeased. Angelica couldn't contain a peal of laughter as it bubbled up from inside her.

Jefferson glanced to his lover, and placed an affectionate hand on her shoulder. _She has been quiet, but I know she is happy. Perhaps I can prolong that..._ An idea struck Thomas, and he suggested, "I hate to upset my little girl, especially on her first night in her new home. So - if Mrs Church and her daughter consent -" he squeezed Angelica's shoulder, as if informing her that he would accept whatever choice she made, "I would be delighted for them to spend the night here. There's plenty of room, you'd both be very comfortable." _Kitty could have her own room beside Polly's, and I already know Angelica has no qualms about sleeping soundly in my bed._

Angelica evidently managed to hide her shock better than her amusement, the only sign displaying how unexpected the offer was being the fact that she forgot to close her mouth after asking her daughter, "What do you think? It's up to you, my love."

Kitty only had to exchange a brief, anxious glance with an enthusiastically nodding Polly before she confirmed with matching excitement, "I'd love that, Mommy! Then we can play together first thing in the morning!"

Angelica breathed a small sigh of relief, though it was scarcely notable. "In that case," she began, her voice hinting at a sultry murmur as the girls immediately resumed their energetic chatter and stopped paying attention to the adults, "It seems we'll be spending the night." _Just as Thomas and I had planned._ "Why don't you girls go up to bed, while I begin thanking Mr Jefferson for his hospitality?"

Energised by the prospect of their sleepover, the two nine year olds rapidly complied, scampering from the room with Polly saying something about lending her new friend a night dress. Their conversation was of no concern to either adult, because for all the riveting chatter in the world, neither Thomas nor Angelica had any priority other than melting into one another and smashing their lips together the moment their children left the room.

Angelica didn't pull away immediately, allowing her lips to remain pressed against Jefferson's for a few seconds after they stopped moving, and then she dropped her head into the crook of his neck, smiling against the collar of his passe jacket and holding onto him for a minute. Her voice radiated a contentment she rarely expressed, and she breathed a heartfelt, "Thank you."

Her bliss was returned by Thomas, and he ran a hand through her hair as he warmly teased, "Are you not already aware that I'm always willing for you to spend the night with me?"

She shook her head, groaning in feigned irritation as she contradicted, "That's not what I'm talking about, and you know that. I _mean_ , I'm grateful for you making my daughter feel welcome too."

"Yes, I do know," Thomas agreed. He stepped backwards to allow him to meet Angelica's deep, soulful gaze as he educated her on something he himself had only very recently discovered, "There are no thanks required. She's yours, which makes her worth my best efforts to win her over."

The look they shared held a profound gravity, and the couple realized in tandem an idea that had previously only brushed the edges of acknowledgement: their emotional connection to one another was something so much more than physical and intellectual attraction.

Regardless of the ferocity with which their joint understanding hit them, their moment was not destined to last, and a shout from Polly interrupted them.

Apologetic, Jefferson excused himself, "I should really see what she needs. You can make your way to my room."

Angelica nodded, and left the man to tend to his daughter, shedding the many various parts of her dress once she was in the privacy of his bedroom and settling under the quilt, awaiting the man to join her. But as the minutes passed and her patience began to wear thin, she rose again, and donned the wrap she kept on the back of her lover's door in preparation for occasions such as that. Clothed somewhat, she returned to the hallway in search of her man.

It didn't take long to locate him, as she merely had to follow the sound of him talking in a hushed voice to Polly, clearly trying to coax her to sleep. Angelica shook her head fondly, and decided to listen to the sweet exchange.

"I'm glad you're here, sweetheart. I've missed you terribly, and _you've_ missed so much in the time you've spent in the States."

"Like meeting Mrs Church, you mean?" Polly queried. Presumably, Jefferson nodded, because after a pause she continued, "I like her, she seems fairly kind, and she gives the impression of being very worldly and educated by simply sitting there. I hope I can do that some day," Polly remarked wistfully, eliciting a chuckle.

"It's not just an _impression_ \- she _is_ incredibly cultured and intelligent, and if you could accumulate half the knowledge she has in your lifetime, I would be an exceptionally proud father," Thomas assured her. "And what of her daughter?"

"She was lovely, it was so nice to be around another young lady like myself again," the girl admitted. She hesitated momentarily before confessing, "You probably think I'm silly, but it almost felt like she could be my sister."

Angelica gasped silently in response. Her heart actually seemed to stop completely when she heard Jefferson muse, "I don't think that's silly at all. In fact, I hope one day she _does_ become like a sister to you."

The Church woman had heard enough to keep her awake all night in the pre-bedtime conversation. She rushed hurriedly back to Jefferson's bedroom, fully aware that she was drastically over-thinking the comment but unable to stop herself even so.

The same questions kept running like a constant mantra through her mind, _Our girls could become sisters? Does he just mean they will be close friends? Or is he envisioning a future in which we are married? Has he completely forgotten our situation?_ She felt a knot of consternation brewing in her stomach as she paced Thomas' bedroom, trying to answer every question in tandem and emerging with a chaotic, nonsensical solution she couldn't actually untangle.

Sweet release from her mental torment came in the form of the door opening. As soon as her lover entered the room, she threw herself into his arms, causing him to back up against the wall as she pushed her body against his in an attempt to lose herself (along with all the thoughts plaguing her mind) by focusing solely on the immense pleasure she knew was just waiting to be unleashed when her lover placed his hands on her body and pushed the single layer of clothing down from her shoulders, revealing her entirely, before carrying her to the bed.

She found the treatment to be effective.

But later that night, when she was curled into Thomas' side and holding his arm in place around her like her own personal blanket, the former Schuyler woman discovered that as opposed to the dreamless slumber she usually fell into, she was instead presented with subconscious images of herself and Jefferson, surrounded by their assorted offspring...

She awoke with a start, before realizing with a twinge of disappointment that it was only a dream.

 _And yet a part of me longs to have that idyllic life? How did I become one of those women who wishes for that stereotypically placid family life?_

Domestic bliss had never really been Angelica's idea of perfection, and the unprecedented change in her personality might have terrified her under other circumstances. But when the very man she had dreamed of sharing a family with was the same one sleeping beside her with a sleepy grin on his lips, she found that she was not scared at all, but filled instead with a cautious, optimistic hope which, though time would prove to be naive and foolish, temporarily soothed her pounding heart.

She pulled Thomas' arm tighter around herself, and returned to her sleep, vowing just as she did so that, should the same image reappear, she would not shy away from it.

* * *

 **A/N: yes I knowwww TJeffs was a massive poo irl. Please forgive me for making him into this strange confused semi domesticated creature man.**

 **Journeys from the US to Europe could take six weeks, but normally it was much longer.**

 **Massive thanks to guest SquidProQuo on your constructive criticism, please know that comments and advice of any kind are always appreciated, I strive to improve so your opinions matter to me!**

 **And again, I am so sorry it's taking me so long to get these chapters up, and unfortunately I have mocks just around the corner so I don't really see that changing any time soon. But nevertheless I am so grateful for your patience with this story! Slowly but surely we are getting there!**


	9. 8 - How do you say Kiss me? pt 4

**A/N: I'm back and ready to write!**

 **I'm truly so sorry I just left you hanging like that, school and Christmas and life in general has kinda gotten on top of me lately and consumed so much time. But hopefully you got a Jeffergelica fix from the Hamilton Advent Calendar I wrote over December, and if not, well, now I'm back and determined to write this! Re-reading some old chapters of this to prepare for writing this one really got me excited about this pairing again, and I've sort of fallen back in love with the story I've planned - I just hope my writing can do it justice!**

 **Now, apologies and excuses done, allow me to say some things about this chapter: Lafayette shows up, (what a babe) with some conflicting ideas on the upcoming revolution. Gotta be honest, I don't know much at all about the French Revolution, we were meant to study it in year 8 history but all we did was watch Les Mis! So I've picked up what I can - the Marquis was sympathetic to the people and wanted change, but he was also a noble, and appointed to protect the royals. He wanted a peaceful transition to a fairer system, but this chapter kinda dramatizes his conflict. Jefferson was all for the revolution as it validated the American one, and in full support of bloodshed, though he admitted it was unfortunate that so many died, and of course he was upset at the consequences it had on his friend.**

 **This has been such a long note. Well, anyway, let's actually get on with it!**

* * *

 _ **Chapter 8: How do you say "Kiss me" - Part IV**_

 _ **Paris, Autumn 1787**_

Just as the cold Autumn air contrasted with the watery, bright sunlight tickling her rosy cheeks with warmth, the stiff forearm of one man, upon which the woman's left hand was set, was in sharp contrast with the teasing fingers of another man brushing against her right hand and occasionally squeezing her fingertips; for possibly the first time in her life, Angelica truly understood the meaning of that old idiom: _Two would be glorious company, but three is most definitely a crowd. Still, if this crowd contains at least one man whose company I relish, I suppose it's tolerable._

She glanced up to the man on her right momentarily to find, as the tingling sensation on her cheek had warned, his eyes boring into her. Regardless of her husband's presence on her left, Angelica dared to lock eyes with Jefferson and cast a playful smirk in his direction, which he returned.

Even after an entire Summer's worth of flirtatious comments and risque suggestions, her heart in her ribcage still fluttered like a hummingbird at his smile.

It was Jefferson who was responsible for the three of them taking the short stroll up a long driveway side by side on that September evening. As ambassador, it was naturally mandatory that he attended events from time to time, always with the option of bringing a small party of his own for company. So at his suggestion, the girls, much to their pleasure, had been left under the care of the same nursemaid, and here they were, approaching an imposing mansion side by side.

Angelica could remember with perfect clarity the strange and endearing mixture of confidence and timidity as he had told her his intentions for this evening, both manifesting simultaneously in his tentative half-smile:

 _"I don't understand, Thomas; he's a good man, and he wouldn't be out of place by any means, yet I fail to see why you would voluntarily wish to attend a ball with my_ husband _as your guest. If anything, I would have expected you to be keen to avoid John."_ On the other hand, perhaps he's simply incapable of feeling shame, in which case he might feel unaffected by guilt when sharing the company of his lover's husband. _Angelica recalled the single interaction she had witnessed between Jefferson and her beloved friend's husband, a lifetime ago now, how Thomas had clearly rejoiced the opportunity to test Mr Cosway, knowing full well the artist couldn't truly express the extent of his rage in such company. Suddenly anxious, she warned, "This had better not be some ploy to reveal my infidelity to him."_

 _Placing a hand on her shoulder, he rubbed small, soothing circles with his thumb through the fabric of her dress. "It's nothing of the sort, you needn't have so little faith in me. I merely feel it's high time I do a favour for Church - he_ is _the husband of my very good American friend, don't you know?"_

 _She chuckled at that, her dry wit scathing and sharp despite the obvious humour glistening star-like in her obsidian eyes. Bemused, she clarified, "You hope to thank my husband for permitting you to spend so much time in the scandalous company and open arms of his wife by inviting him to a ball where he might be able to use sycophantic praise to elevate his status?"_

 _"No, that is_ not _, strangely enough, the story we will tell him," Jefferson corrected, smiling despite himself. He didn't care to consider why he found it so alluring when the woman who exuded blatant intelligence challenged him. "Rather, we will explain that since you are such a dear friend to me, I, out of a benevolent desire to do all I can to increase the prosperity of you and your loved ones, thought that Church and in turn his family would benefit greatly from conversations with the influential figures sure to attend." A small flicker of something like worry in his expression begged her not to press for further information on what motivated him to extend the offer to John._

 _Naturally, she recognized this, and refused to let it go unacknowledged._

 _Arching an eyebrow, Angelica enquired, "Kind as that is, I can't help but wonder what has possessed you to_ want _to be good to my husband. You know as well as I do that simply earning a person's esteem doesn't make you exempt from their wrath should you cross the boundaries_ we _have crossed." It wasn't phrased as a question, but it demanded an answer anyway._

 _Finding unexpectedly that he was swamped in unanticipated nerves, Jefferson's gaze darted to the floor as he bashfully confessed the truth. "If_ he _comes,_ you'll _have to be there, too." Reticent, he tried to look into her soft eyes, but after settling instead for watching her curved lips, he elaborated, "Your appearance will not be questioned or criticized, nor will the company you keep. Honestly, I want for once to be able to spend an evening with you, in public, unafraid of the assumptions people make."_

 _Her heart melted at that, and she caved instantly. The plans were laid that very day._

Looking directly ahead, the woman smiled fondly at the memory. Noting this, her husband commented, "It's always good to see a smile lighting a lady's face, wouldn't you agree, Jefferson?"

Nodding politely, the ambassador responded, "Of course, and no woman wears one as well as your bride." The proud man seemed to absorb it as a compliment to him, and in some ways it was, since it seemed quite the feat that an aging, rotund Englishman was capable of tying down a wife such as the formidable girl once known as Angelica Schuyler. However the praise was all hers, which she knew, hence the fresh growth of her blossoming smile.

Failing to notice the flirtatious fingertips of his wife and the man whose respect he hoped to earn, John continued to converse, "It's very kind of you to invite us here, Jefferson - you seem to spend an awful lot of time ensuring my family is entertained; it's a noble task, and I can only thank you for endeavouring to make our time in Paris as pleasurable as possible."

A warm hand closed entirely around Angelica's for a tantalizingly short moment, and with it came the thrill of affection coursing through her soul, waves surging over rugged rocks with an almost terrifying power. Thomas' face revealed nothing of the secret they shared, save for the wide, smug grin as he loftily declared, "Believe me, the pleasure is all mine."

Maybe Church might have wondered why the other man seemed so illogically self-satisfied had he not been distracted at that moment. The trio had arrived at the large entrance to the ostentatious mansion, and a pair of guards were holding open the doors, having clearly recognized all three of the new arrivals. The moment they entered, a rare example of cohesion between husband and wife (and illicit lover) emerged in the matching gasps of unbridled awe. Everything within the vast room sang of decadence; the zenith of luxury was exuded from every furnishing, every swirl of marble and every shimmer of gold.

And amidst it all was a familiar friendly face radiating a sombre sorrow which seemed thoroughly out of place in those beautiful surroundings.

It was this face that caught Angelica's attention, and the second she made eye contact with the man who had once called himself her brother, and witnessed his subsequent pitiful attempt to smile, she knew what her immediate priority of that evening had to be.

"John, if you don't mind, I'm going to talk to the Marquis de Lafayette. It's been so long since I last spoke to him." She pecked her husband quickly on the cheek, before hurrying away without leaving him the chance to say a word of protest.

Left dumbfounded in his wife's wake, Church turned to his remaining acquaintance. Jefferson clapped a hand on his shoulder and remarked fondly, "Angelica Schuyler Church is a host unto herself - does what she wants, when she wants, whether you consent or not." Somewhat baffled about how much this man knew of his bride, John simply stared blankly at Thomas. After a slightly uncomfortable pause, Jefferson gestured towards a group of men gathered at the far end of the ballroom, and suggested, "There, Mr Church, is a group you want to become friendly with. Never fret about Mrs Church, she's in good hands with the Marquis. You just focus on your career, won't you." _And leave me to focus on the bride you don't deserve._

If John registered the patronizing edge to the American's words, he revealed no sign of it. Taking his word as trustworthy, he followed the instruction, making his way to the group Thomas had indicated.

Alone but keen not to remain so, the remaining man glided swiftly through the crowds in pursuit of his inamorata, where she stood with his friend.

It was rare to see such discernment upon Gilbert's usually jovial features, and the crease in the Frenchman's brow looked decidedly alien, unnerving, even, to anyone who knew him with a degree of intimacy.

"Marquis, you look anxious, whatever's the matter?" Angelica enquired, her words insistent but soft. No matter the soldier's plight, she was determined to treat her old friend with tenderness and understanding.

The Frenchman rubbed his temple, not even trying to deny the correctness of her observation. "I'm afraid it's nothing you can solve, dearest Angelica. I doubt _anyone_ could solve it..." He gazed mournfully into the middle distance as he continued, "The wall we have built between the rich and the poor will inevitably be broken, it _has_ to be, sooner or later."

"And you fear it is to be sooner," she finished.

"I _fear_ it is to be deadly," Lafayette confessed, speaking freely despite his surroundings; though surrounded by the elite who surely wouldn't take kindly to overhearing the pessimistic conversation, he was presented with the chance to discuss his worries openly, with a language barrier keeping his words private from his fellow French nobles. Shaking his head, he admitted, "Then again, whoever heard of a revolution without bloodshed? The two are practically synonymous."

A third figure joined the duo. "What's this talk of revolution?" Jefferson interjected, appearing like a ghost at Angelica's side, setting a protective hand on her back as if the cursed thing might ensue at any moment. "It's ugly business - very necessary in pursuit of true liberty, as seen in America's fight for justice, but decidedly unpleasant even so."

"We _know_ that, we _have_ lived through one," his lover reminded him, her consternation evident upon her pretty features. "It doesn't make the idea any less intimidating."

Lafayette groaned, looking around him and seeing, rather than the gaudy furnishings exuding wealth and power, a symbol of precisely the kind of corruption that condemned the masses to suffer. Disconcerted, he muttered, "Murmurs of discontent grow louder with each passing day, and soon I know they will transform into shouting demands for reform and screams for mercy. Being here, amongst all this finery, of course it's beautiful, but it's also tragic to see that we have such an abundance of wealth while the common people have none!" He seemed to grow more passionate with every word: "When I fought at Yorktown, I swore I would return to my home and light the spark of our own revolution, but since, I have been appointed into the ranks of the royals instead! And still, I empathize with the public, I want them to be victorious, but it contradicts everything I am supposed to be now!" True pain, a display of only a fraction of his inner conflict, shone from the Frenchman's emotive, patriotic eyes. His voice returned to a subdued murmur. "One thing alone is certain: the French Revolution is coming."

"Gilbert," Angelica spoke softly, reaching for his hand and squeezing, the only form of comfort she could offer when words failed her.

"I don't want you to be here when it strikes," he implored, bringing his second hand to cup hers, suddenly desperate. It was clear there was nothing but platonic, maybe even familial affection for his best friend's sister in law urging him to plead, "No matter what, make sure you are gone - America, England, it doesn't matter. I don't know what my family and I will do, but I don't want _yours_ to have to face that same choice."

In a rare public show of sincerity, Thomas took hold of his friend's shoulder. Determined to ensure that it was so, he assured him, "Whatever comes to pass, you can be certain that you will have our full support. As a nation, and as a friend," he finished with a small smile, which the Frenchman mirrored.

"We'll help you if you encounter trouble, you can trust in that," Angelica concurred, placing her own viewpoint with Jefferson's without a second thought. She withdrew her hand from Lafayette and nodded once, a silent, solemn declaration that her words were not merely intended to placate the agitated man, but to bind the three of them into a promise.

The Frenchman beamed, resembling himself more than he had done for the entirety of the cool, twilight evening. Bowing low before them both, he decided, "You are both true friends. Alas, I have others I must talk to." A trace of regret marring his freshly resurrected optimism, he straightened and murmured, "If you'll excuse me, I should be going."

The couple nodded their consent, and Lafayette withdrew, nerves eased thanks to the conversation held with the two wise, political minds left standing side by side.

A beat of peace, then Jefferson pounced on the scrap Angelica knew the man would relish. Humour teasing at the corners of his lips, he smugly quoted, "' _We'll_ help you.'" She rolled her eyes, eliciting a chuckle from her entertained lover. " _We_ ," he repeated, his voice marginally higher in pitch as he poorly mimicked her, " _We,_ that is, Thomas Jefferson and I, will help you."

"Yes, Thomas, I know what I said. If, however, you believe that is an adequate imitation of my voice, then I'm afraid your talents of impersonation are severely flawed," she fired back, quickly exasperated by the way he had mercilessly forced her to acknowledge her improper slip of the tongue. Even so, there was a distinct hint of coy flirtation which she felt within her, tugging her lips into a coquettish smirk.

Jefferson shook his head, almost childish with pride as he responded, "I don't seek to impress you with impersonations, but to remind you of the words you spoke of your own free will. You consider the two of us to be one, a single body, a single mind -"

"And by some _miracle_ , after months of sharing one another's company, amongst _other things_ ," she used the innuendo to connote more than she wanted any passerby to understand, "That comes as a surprise to you." She shrugged, superior even to Thomas' complacent victory. To her mind, it seemed so obvious that she should think of Jefferson as an extension of herself that the only real surprise was not that she had unwittingly admitted as much verbally, but that he seemed so stunned by it. She laughed gleefully, her recent worries forgotten as she watched the delightful transformation from pride to shock as the true extent of her innermost feelings towards Thomas fell into place in his own mind.

Within a few heartbeats, Jefferson had regained his mostly inalterable composure, baring his familiar grin as he remarked, "You really _are_ full of surprises. _I_ might be, too, if not for the small matter of your husband being so nearby preventing me from catching you off guard." He sighed wistfully, daring to stroke his fingertips through her curls, brushing her cheek as he did so, yet not risking anything more scandalous than that mostly innocent motion.

Resisting the insatiable instinct gnawing at her heart to lean her face against his palm, the woman curiously enquired, half-sure of the answer, "What exactly do you mean by that, Mr Jefferson?"

Raising a single eyebrow, Jefferson exuded seduction as he told her in a breathy, sultry murmur, "I mean that if your husband and his peers weren't watching us, I would be kissing you right now, and taking your breath away with every one I laid upon your skin." He lowered his hand so that his knuckles grazed her collarbone, his eyes tracing the same longing line he wished his lips were able to travel.

 _Perhaps he can feel my heartbeat racing,_ she wondered absently, closing her eyes for a few seconds and simply basking in the thrilling anticipation his touch always evoked. Her incriminatingly rapid pulse seemed to echo in her ears, _maybe he can even hear it_. Snapping from her hazy dream, she placed both hands on his wrist, and removed his hand from her neck. Mischief glistening within onyx eyes which seemed to call _follow_ , she tugged him through the masses of people milling about the ballroom, finding a door and shoving through it unnoticed. The relative but fragile privacy of an empty hallway was all the infamously demanding woman had the patience to seek out before she pulled Jefferson close by locking her arms around his waist, her deep, soulful gaze the mirror image of the hungry flame of desire in his. He hesitated, not exactly shy, but more reserved than she was.

"There is nobody watching us now," she helpfully notified him with a melodic whisper, daring him to be true to his word.

It was all the prompting Thomas needed to envelope her lips with his, bringing their bodies close together and holding her there with a hand on her hip and another in her hair, genuinely drawing gasps from his paramour as his mouth explored hers.

* * *

"Thomas," the name escaped Angelica's parted lips as little more than a sigh.

Needing nothing more to comply with the unspoken request, Jefferson took one of her hands in both of his and lifted it to his mouth, a chaste, modest kiss fluttering across her knuckles, light as lace or a butterfly's wing. He released her, confirming, "We should be going back."

The music and chatter from the ballroom was so faint that Angelica had all but forgotten the celebration taking place just a wall away. Nevertheless, she knew it was necessary to return to it; she couldn't begin to hazard a guess as to how much time had passed during those precious moments she had spent pressed against her lover, smiling as she felt his matching grin travel down her neck, yet she suspected it was long enough that their absence might raised some questions. So she slipped away from him and instructed, "You first. I'll wait just a little while longer." He nodded, and silently left her alone in the dimly lit hallway.

Taking advantage of the brief snatch of solitude, Angelica glanced at a marble pillar, using the reflective surface as a mirror to ensure that despite the passionate fumbling she had partaken in, not so much as a hair was left out of place.

Satisfied, she wandered back along the hallway, relishing the hushed quiet just before stepping back into the storm.

Bracing herself to face any of her husband's enquiries, the woman returned through the same door from which she had exited the ballroom, only to find herself immediately subjected to John Church's undivided attention as he spotted her from across the room and signalled for her to join him.

At his side was the man whose company she had only just left.

Masking her guilt with an angelic, mesmerizing smile, Angelica swanned through the crowds to stand opposite the two men. _If Thomas has said something about us to him..._ She cast a glance up towards the tallest of the two men, only to find an impenetrable cloud of gloom concealing any identifiable emotion upon Jefferson's face. Confusion reigned within her, however Church was beaming, marginally appeasing her. Keen to discover what had come to pass, she opened by trying to explain, "I was just -"

"- Taking some air, I know, Jefferson was just telling me that he went to check on you and found you to be quite sickly, so he escorted you from the room lest you should lose your way. Truly, sir, you are an awfully good man," John declared, reaching to wholeheartedly shake the American's hand. He had babbled hurriedly in his impatience to share what he perceived to be a brilliant development. "It is _you_ above anyone else that I have to thank for what's happened."

"What _has_ happened?" The clueless woman was thoroughly unaccustomed to being excluded, and when the mysterious news had brought such joy to one man she cared for and such dismay to another, a lack of knowledge seemed to be something she simply couldn't afford to maintain.

Jefferson spoke. He was unusually formal towards her, his forced smile in clear contradiction to the pain in his eyes, and she could practically hear a thick wave of emotion scarcely held back behind his words. "It seems congratulations are in order. I'm certain you and your family will be most happy."

The tension between the two secret lovers would have been palpable to anyone not blinded by their own glee. Needless to say, John didn't notice anything more than mild curiosity in his bride's concerned query, "Why is that?"

"London, dear." John grinned as he broke the news, "I've been offered a position in the Houses of Parliament, starting in the new year." Thomas Jefferson's dejection suddenly fell into place, and the world seemed to tumble away from Angelica as her husband concluded, "Finally, we'll be leaving this country behind, never to return to it."

 _Leaving Paris means leaving Thomas._ That solid and agonizingly inescapable fact was the sole thought reverberating through Angelica's mind, and for just a moment, she forgot her duty to present herself as the businessman's loyal wife prepared to follow him anywhere and permitted her face to reflect the chaos running amock in her heart.

"Look at her, poor woman, she's stunned!" Church cheerfully chuckled, regarding his bride with amusement and trying to share the joke with Jefferson. "Don't fret, dear, they still have shops in London, and with the wage I'll be earning, you'll have no shortage of pretty things to keep you occupied."

Angelica was certain she'd never witnessed such rage in Jefferson's face as she did in that heartbeat: She was seeing his pure, blatant venom towards her husband in response to his shameless sexism. Regardless of the weight in her chest, a bubble of laughter rose from within her as she considered (contrary to John's assumptions about thinking of riches and material goods) the drastic shift from the arrogant, dismissive man she had first been introduced to and the man who was fiercely defensive of her and took offense to any judgemental comment made towards her.

Thomas tore the daggers he was firing at Church away from him the instant he heard the familiar, beautiful laugh from the enchanting woman. Mustering an apologetic smile, he nodded sympathetically.

 _We both know what I must say,_ she realized. She had played her part perfectly for years before encountering Jefferson, and now it was time for her to return to being the compliant woman her husband had come to expect her to be. There was no true conviction, but it was a believable performance nonetheless as she took both of her husband's hands in hers and warmly congratulated, "That's wonderful, love, and I couldn't be more proud."

John beamed, and offered his arm for her to take. "I knew you'd be delighted just as soon as you understood," he remarked, a definite self-congratulatory tone to his words. "Excuse us, Jefferson, my wife and I ought to share our good news!"

He lead his bride away, stretching her heartstrings to the point of snapping as he did so. _We're not leaving straight away, there's still time for him to change his mind,_ she desperately told herself, though her rational brain _knew_ that there was no chance of an alteration in the decision: a position in the British government was what he had always sought out, and he would surely not allow it to slip past him.

She felt the achingly familiar sensation of longing eyes following her walk away, yet she didn't dare peek over her shoulder to return Thomas' sorrowful expression. Her one hope at saving face was to keep smiling and laughing, all the while hoping desperately that her performance was convincing enough to keep anyone from spotting the tears brimming within her eyes.

Yet that night, when her cheekbones ached from holding wooden smile for most of the evening, they fell freely, rolling hot and heavy down her face before falling, plummeting downwards into dark oblivion, just like her dreams.


	10. 9 - How do you say Kiss me? pt 5

**A/N: Would you look at that, I'm back! (Horrifically much later than when I last left you, but hey, at least I showed up eventually... Right?) I really am sorry at how long this is taking, I'm just a lot busier than I used to be. Plus writer's block was a bit of a killer for a few weeks... But I have inspiration back now, and I've been working to get this out for you! It probably doesn't seem it, but I'm really grateful for you reading this, and I will do my best to give you a good story. Which is not to say you'll enjoy this chapter, since it's kinda sad and mopey... But hey, every story needs a generous portion of denial and frustration!**

* * *

 _ **Chapter 9: How do you say "Kiss me" - Part V**_

 _ **Paris, Winter 1787**_

Perhaps tantrums are unbecoming in a young lady destined to follow in the footsteps of her mother, grandmother and countless women before her and quietly take her place amongst the ranks of high society. Indeed, it hardly set a precedent for a girl growing into a compliant, obedient woman once she was of an age to take a husband.

Nevertheless, no thought of what was proper or what was acceptable even crossed Kitty's mind when she heard the dreadful news.

Since meeting and befriending Polly Jefferson, Catherine Church had seemed to soak up some of the confidence of the more open girl, shedding her former timid character for a new version of herself which she preferred. More than she ever had done before, Angelica saw herself in her ten year old daughter, particularly when she stood before her father, loudly insisting that it was absolutely imperative that her family shouldn't be relocated to London on account of what she deemed a silly job.

"Daddy, please," she implored, beginning in the same way she had opened every single one of her urgent pleas, "It's really not fair, and I don't want to go to London! It's nowhere near so interesting as Paris, and it's always so dreary and grey. Daddy, I have friends here, friends I would miss so awfully if we left -"

"Now, Kitty," John warned, his voice stern though his seated position guaranteed that, as always, he wouldn't become overly passionate about defending his decision. "You needn't make a fuss, it's infantile and childish. You are literate, so friends you wish to remain in contact with you may write to; London has it's share of blue skies and sunshine, as I know you will discover for yourself when we spend our happy summers relaxing in the royal parks; and it's just as interesting a city as Paris, if not more so, and I know you'll learn to love it," he dismissed the child's anxious qualms, denying the validity of each point she made.

The large, soft pools of her eyes widened and flooded suddenly with tears. The shift in her voice from frustration to sorrow was painfully audible, and her words were fragile and watery as she responded, "But Daddy -"

"Kitty, sweetheart, go to your room," her mother gently coaxed, setting a hand on her daughter's shoulder and showing her the pinnacle of tender affection which Angelica reserved solely for her children and sisters; John received polite civility and Jefferson received her laughter and fondness, but it was in her role as a guardian and protector that the true extent of the former Schuyler sister's capacity for selfless kindness emerged. Trying to console her aggrieved daughter, the doting mother turned the girl around to face her, cradling her face between her palms and meeting her teary eyes before kissing her forehead. "Your father and I will talk of this, my love," she solemnly told her, before releasing the child to hurry away to her bedroom.

As soon as the ten year old vacated the room, Church watched the expression of his wife change. At once, he knew what was coming - it was incredibly rare for her to frown as she was at that moment, but it was recognizably the prelude to one inescapable thing: "You're going to take her side now, aren't you?"

"Yes," Angelica replied, calm and measured as she truthfully told him, "It breaks my heart to see our little dove so upset. I know this job in London is so important to you, and I'm proud of all you've done to attain such a position, but I can't help feeling that it is drastically unfair to drag our offspring away from a place they seem so happy in."

Mr Church raised a hand to run tersely through his increasingly sparse hair, agitation evident in every movement. Exasperated, he sighed, sarcasm tainting his words as he asked, "What do you suggest we do _instead_ of relocating as a family back to a place that none of us seemed to mind when we were living there before?"

"I can remain here with Catherine, and if Philip would prefer not to change schools again then he will stay here in Paris too. Dear, there's nothing absolutely awful about London, but if the children are happy here -"

"- It's unthinkable, Angelica. You have to be able to see that I couldn't possibly stay in London without my family." He shook his head, banishing the very notion. "How could I ever manage without the ones I care for?"

"You're a grown man, I'm sure you'd get by," Angelica remarked, growing more emphatic with every sharp word that dripped from her lips. "And I don't want my family to be separated either, but I'm worried about the impact of moving our children around so much, and if you care for them, surely their happiness should be your priority." She crossed her arms and glanced away from her husband, infuriated by his stubborn behaviour. She knew realistically that _he_ had to leave, but after considering it for weeks, she decided that she wanted nothing more than to stay, with or without him.

But John never truly saw her rare bursts of anger as anything more than meaningless complaints. He softened, trying to appease his dissatisfied bride with simple platitudes. "Dear, please don't fret, you're being irrational. I _do_ care about the children, which is why I can't stand to be parted from them. Besides, if I were to go to London alone, it would raise far too many questions, and that is _not_ the image a new political figure wants loitering around him."

He reached for her hand, but she stood before he could touch her.

 _So it is his reputation which keeps him from granting this request. In which case, he is too proud to talk sense to._ Firm in her belief, Angelica walked away from the room, hurrying away like her daughter before her, a formidable hurricane sweeping through the halls to the privacy of her own bedroom.

Flinging herself down on the bedsheets, Angelica took a few seconds to wallow in self-pity. She refused to allow a tear to fall, however - crying would make the entire situation unbearably, inescapably real, and while she still had the option of deluding herself into believing the relocation would not happen she elected to take that route of denial to cope with the fact that each passing day brought her closer to begin separated from the only man she had cared about since meeting Alexander. It was this same excuse of denial she had given Thomas a few days previously, a single hastily scrawled note to put an end to his many letters pleading to meet with her. They hadn't set eyes on one another at all in the fortnight since the fateful evening due to Angelica's refusal to see him; she knew she wouldn't be able to tolerate seeing her lover as downtrodden and dejected as his inky scribbles had painted him to be: It would cause the remaining tatters of her broken heart to disintegrate into dust.

Too soon, those fleeting moments in which she permitted the weight of her sorrow to wash over her came to an end. Drawing in a harsh breath, she decided that she had to do something to quench the itching restlessness prickling at her fingers.

She rose from her bed to take a seat at the writing desk in her room. Plucking a quill and a small bottle of ink from the drawer, she set about writing a letter, confessing her sins by committing them to paper, safe in the knowledge that the recipient would not judge her for how she felt.

Not Eliza, the younger woman was too sweet, too righteous to corrupt her innocent mind and idolization of her elder sister with the truth about her infidelity, nor Peggy, with the loss of two infants filling her with too much sorrow to be burdened with her sister's comparatively trivial issues; a letter to Jefferson would open too many fresh wounds, and Alexander was simply out of the question. So it was Maria Cosway who found herself the recipient of an impassioned letter from a troubled friend she had missed for many months.

* * *

 _Dear Maria,_

 _I wish I could write to you with happier news. Perhaps I owe it to you to send a beautifully woven story of elegance and charm and romance, since you opened the opportunity for me to experience such things. But I can't tell you a fantastical tale, since there is none to be seen. Life, as always, is filled with obstacles, and mine is no different. It just so happens that I have encountered a particularly impenetrable wall on my path, and you are the only one I can trust with this recount of my woe._

 _Were you teasing me upon all of those long afternoons we spent together in Paris, complaining fondly of our husbands and lusting terribly over other men? I hope not, as I took your words into consideration and acted upon them. By which I mean of course that I became significantly closer to our mutual friend, being a shoulder for him to cry on when you first left and so much more in the weeks that followed. You were right: I found joy, an abundance of it, and I have your guidance to thank._

 _But perhaps you are familiar with the strange phenomenon of lighting a candle in a gloomy room, only to find that when it sputters out, the room seems far darker than it did before due to the absence of a light you had become accustomed to? This metaphor is unfortunately quite apt to describe my situation: I'm afraid the flame of my own heart is being put out, and when it is gone, my life will be far more bleak than it has ever seemed in the past. I'm talking about Jefferson, I know you realize this. And I am losing him because I, like you, have to move away with my husband to London. It is unavoidable, I know that, even so the inevitability of it doesn't prevent it being upsetting, and I think there must be nobody who knows that better than you do._

 _I don't know what to ask of you. Advice or comfort, all seems futile. Regardless, it is good to share my thoughts with such a loved friend - I simply couldn't breathe under the weight of my hidden secrets. I'm glad to share with you, dear Maria, and I hope that from where you are across the sea, the pieces of this puzzle will not appear so untidy that they can't be fixed._

 _My best and most sincere wishes go to you, my friend._

 _Angelica_

* * *

Ceaseless days came and went, too slow in their passing, since the hours dragged on, but nevertheless too fast. So she beat on, struggling against the unavoidable end and wishing against all logic that she might be able to make the world simply pause for a while; another few months, perhaps, could be sufficient for her infatuation with Jefferson to diminish, and then time could keep flying and she could fly right along with it, assuming her role as the quiet, humble wife of a respectable politician without any regrets whatsoever.

But Angelica was not some sort of mysterious, omnipotent being capable of controlling the passage of time. Rather, she was an impassioned, emotional and dare she admit it, _enamoured_ woman who longed to see and stay with her paramour. And as time passed, she reached a realization she wished was untrue:

 _The latter of my wishes is impossible, but the former is not._

Her resolve to preserve herself from forming yet more bittersweet attachments bowed and broke under her desire to take just a few moments of salvation from her loneliness and longing for her lover. It would hurt all the more when she inevitably had to leave, and it was unlikely their meeting would be as carefree and jubilant as they had been in the past, nevertheless she simply _had_ to see him.

So for the first time in over a month, Angelica Schuyler Church left her home unaccompanied, melancholy as she retraced the old familiar route to the Jefferson residence.

Somehow, the city was silent, sombre, and for once, her rapid mind was, too.

She hadn't anticipated Jefferson being the one to open the front door to her when she knocked. But then, as he sat at his desk unable to focus on work and instead gazing restlessly out of the window, _he_ hadn't expected to see the familiar shade of coral she favoured bringing a splash of colour and warmth to the pavement outside his home. So he had hurried downstairs when he spied her turning into the street, scarcely believing that his eyesight had not deceived him, and opened the door as soon as he heard her knocking on the other side.

Thomas' brow was furrowed with confusion, and understandably so considering the curt, dismissive tone of her last brief letter to him. Meanwhile his gaze begged a question, one she hoped a vague explanation would satisfy: "I just wanted to see you while I still have the chance, that's all."

He nodded, and stepped aside, silently gesturing for her to enter. For the time being, he had no clue where to begin with words, but if she came inside and perhaps made herself comfortable by lounging on his sofa with a mischievous smirk which dared him to challenge her, or perching on the edge of his desk while rifling through unfinished documents and adding her own improvements here and there, or essentially doing _anything_ whatsoever, so long as she was behaving as they used to together; then, he might have been able to speak openly with her:

He might have told her that he would not allow the move to happen, that she was too important to leave the city, that she had nothing to fear because it simply couldn't be allowed to go ahead, to which she would have chuckled and insisted that he was a fantasist and a dreamer, and even though she would have been correct they would still both be able to laugh and tease and joke about how ironic it was that a God neither were very sure existed had set out to play a cruel trick on them both - bleak humour, but humour even so.

Alas, she did not accept the silent invitation, and he did not find the words to elicit her melodic, charming laugh. Instead, Angelica hesitated to so much as step inside. To justify herself, she elaborated, "I wanted to _see_ you, but I think actually _talking_ is too complicated, and doing anything _else_ would be inadvisable at this moment in time." _I came here, having made the decision to see him again because I missed him terribly, but now I am refusing to do anything more than look at him?_ Her internalized criticism was as incredulous as Jefferson ought to have been as she chastised herself. Yet despite being acutely aware of how irrational she was being, she found no desire to change her mind.

"So we will stand here, and we will look." Bizarrely enough, Thomas could see how that was the simplest option. He didn't begrudge her whims, how _could_ he when he could only wish he was in a position to indulge every last desire to cross her mind? So he stood before her penetrating gaze, staring at Angelica in the fading December light, the ice of the breeze tempered by the heat bursting from his chest. Minutes passed before he dared to enquire, " _You_ don't have to say a word, but might _I_ speak?"

The tiniest nod confirmed her consent, while her expression remained effortlessly neutral. She exuded balance - in public she always had done. But Jefferson had been one of the very few people to be granted a glance beyond the cool, placid exterior to the flurry of vibrant life and excitement and enthusiasm lurking just beneath the surface of her intelligence and beauty once or twice, and he had been shown a zeal and passion that wasn't easily forged - it wasn't much, he knew that what she allowed him to see was barely a glimpse of something so much more. But he had seen it a few times even so, been permitted to gaze upon if not touch the true core of Angelica Schuyler Church, and baring witnesses to the true self of the eternal enigma made him feel he had a duty to say his next words to her:

"I don't want you to go, you know that, but it's not your decision to make. Maria wrote to me, and I wouldn't try to be so selfish, but from what she said, I know you'd stay here if you could, so I'm trying to find reason for Church to let you remain in Paris, with me. I'm working on something, I don't want to give you false hope, but I'm doing all I can to keep you here. Don't forget that, Angelica - even if it falls through, remember how much I wanted you to stay."

Angelica closed her eyes to hide the pain glistening within them. She had known it was the wrong decision to seek out Jefferson, and now the piercing ache in her chest confirmed it. Once they reopened, however, she was calm again, politely smiling as he'd seen her do a million times to various members of society she was expected to be courteous towards. It seemed almost impersonal as she replied, "Thank you, Mr Jefferson, I'll be sure to keep that in mind."

The man stepped away, a sign of resignation - her mind was set on not engaging in anything particularly personal, and he would accept her choice on the off chance that it made their inevitable and impending separation more tolerable.

Taking it as a signal of dismissal, Angelica walked away rather than forcing more uncomfortable formalities to ensue; their meeting had been awkward enough without extending the unpleasant affair with extensive farewells. _Besides, I fear some more permanent goodbyes are just around the corner._

* * *

"Angelica! Dear, come quickly!"

John Church's voice imploring she attended his call interrupted Angelica as she idly gazed from her bedroom window flicking absentmindedly through a book of poetry - in her current situation, the call of the foolish, naive romanticism always evident in classic poems was simply too strong to resist. Still, she didn't hesitate to abandon her melancholy reading material, and instead swiftly followed the sound of her husband's voice to his office, where it was clear from the messy pile of envelopes, which stood out glaringly amidst the otherwise meticulously tidy study, that the post had just been brought to him.

Judging by the open letter he held, the new delivery was what had provoked the urgency to consult his bride. "What is it, dear," she enquired mildly, peering at the piece of paper with only vague interest.

"What do you know of this?" John asked, before reading from the page, "'The Admissions committee of Pentemont Abbey Convent School wish to extend an invitation to the daughter of Mr and Mrs Church to attend, in response to the recent application made on her behalf.'" Truly baffled, he explained, "I've certainly never even _heard_ of this school, much less submitted an application for our Catherine to attend."

 _And to my knowledge, neither have I_ , of that Angelica was absolutely certain.

"Pentemont Abbey," she mused aloud, rolling the name about on her tongue to see if she could puzzle together the mystery of why her daughter had been given a place there, and why it seemed so familiar yet unknown. The answer struck her like a bolt of lightning strikes a key and a kite, and she concluded, "That's where Jefferson's elder daughter is educated."

"And of what relevance is that to us?" John pressed her for more information, genuinely desperately unsure of the circumstances leading to that point.

 _I have absolutely no idea. But then, didn't Thomas say he was working on something? A plan for us to stay in France? Well this might as well be it, since it's as good as any other idea..._ Her decision was made in a second. Feigning unearthing a forgotten memory, she recalled, "Oh, of course, I placed an application there months ago. I suppose it must have slipped my mind with all of the excitement in preparation to move."

John nodded, satisfied with her response (because why _shouldn't_ she be so preoccupied with their upcoming move that she forgot other obligations?) and wistfully sighed, "Well, I'm sure it would have been lovely for her to attend, but -"

" _But_?" Angelica interrupted, raising am eyebrow. He allowed her to elaborate on the point her poised expression was clearly itching to make, "We can't simply forget about this - I hear it's a wonderful school, it would be such a shame for Kitty to miss out. I think that if she has been offered a place, she must take it, even if that means her staying here."

John frowned, growing disgruntled as he reminded his wife, not for the first time, "You _know_ I can't stay here - I'm needed in England. I can't sacrifice a position in Parliament just for a girl to go to school, it's absurd. The only thing which rivals it in ludicrousness is the idea of leaving Kitty alone in France while the rest of her family is abroad! Whichever way you look at it, the very notion of her attending this school is out of the question." He spoke with an air of authority, and finality echoed in his words as he crossed his arms stubbornly.

All of this was something Angelica opted to ignore. "It's too good an opportunity to waste, dear. If you're so sure _you_ have to move away, then _I_ can stay here in Paris to make sure there is someone nearby if she needs her parents. We can find a way to make it work for us, John, you _know_ we can. She's your daughter, and she's upset at the prospect of leaving anyway; won't you put her happiness first?" The words stung bitterly on Angelica's tongue, filling her mouth with the unpleasant taste of hypocrisy: her husband was taking them away because it was in his own best interests, yet she was just as bad, using her child's happiness as an excuse to continue her illicit affair. Nevertheless, she remained sturdy in her goals. She would do whatever it took to save her heart from being broken again.

She seemed to have broken through John's tough exterior, at least, since he wore a pensive expression upon his face. "We can find a way to make it work for us..." He thoughtfully repeated what he had been told, mulling over how exactly he could find a solution ideal for him. "Do you know, I think you might be right. Excuse me," he rose without any further explanation and withdrew from his office. Moments later, the sound of the front door opening and closing told Angelica that he had left the house, too, evidently with some kind of plan.

For all her confusion, Angelica soon decided that she preferred ignorance when it emerged that the knowledge of her husband's plan caused her heart to plummet. For he returned half an hour later, by which point she had settled in the lounge with confusion running rife within her, with another man in tow, who flashed her an awkward, uncomfortable smile before sitting down in Church's armchair. John sat on the couch before addressing his bride, "You are, of _course_ , very well acquainted with Mr Jefferson, are you not, dear?" He asked the rhetorical question and received a nod in reply. "In fact, if I were to hazard a guess I'd assume you counted him amongst your very closest friends, is that fair to say?"

"Yes. But I don't see how this relates -"

"Don't jump to conclusions, love, I'm explaining things for you," John patronizingly silenced his wife, however he was oblivious to the fact that it was indignance, not obedience, which sealed her lips together in a thin, withering line. "Anyway, as I was saying, it seems to me that there is no one in France you would trust more with the duty of looking after your child than Thomas."

The reality of the situation dawned on Angelica too late: before she could protest, Jefferson quietly announced, "Church told me about your predicament. All things considered, it would be impossible for you to remain in France, and I don't blame him for refusing to part with you." John beamed, blind to the envious bitterness in Jefferson's words. "So, as a man who thinks of you more fondly than you know, and who considers Kitty as one of my own, I have agreed to be her guardian during my time here." He felt precisely how she looked: stunned at his own agreement which essentially sealed their separation. But, bizarrely enough, he truly _did_ care for the two Church women, which is why he chose to prioritize Kitty's education over a clean break from his lover. "This way, even if _you_ leave, at least she can attend school. She'll be happy there, with my girls for company."

Angelica shook her head, only remembering her husband's presence half way through her statement and clumsily rescuing it, "Thomas, you can't think that's a good idea, don't you see that means I'll have to - what I mean to say is, that is too great a favour to ask, and one we could never repay."

"I don't want payment, Mrs Church," he told her, his own sombre gaze meeting her appalled one. "And you can trust that I'll keep in touch - I'll write to you about how she is managing, and you could stay with me whenever you wanted to visit her." He raised his eyebrows meaningfully, and his lover understood the other reason why he would agree to the plan which would guarantee her exit:

 _He knows I have to go with John, but at least this way we can write as often as we please without speculation, and I will have an excuse to return to him. Which is better than nothing whatsoever..._ Church misjudged the rush of emotion which caused her face to flush and her eyes to mist over as relief. But, needless to say, he was not corrected by his wife or her lover, and saw nothing strange about her hesitant reply, "It seems that this is the best possible outcome. Very well, Thomas, thank you for your kind offer." She sighed, managing to drag a smile from within her as she nodded, "We accept it."

"Good!" John clapped his hands together, a wide grin shining upon his wide face. "I'll tell Catherine the good news; I'm sure she'll be delighted to hear about her father's plan. I assume the two of you have no opposition to being left in one another's company." He chuckled, as though he'd made some witty joke, while in reality if there was any hint of humour to be found, it was at his expense, as it was _him_ who was oblivious to the affair taking place between the pair. He left them in peace, no doubt to glorify his own role in the decision making as he recounted the story to his young daughter.

Until the sound of footsteps had retreated beyond earshot, neither of them spoke aloud, or even dared to move, in case their movements should incriminate them. Regardless, their matching expressions of regret conveyed more than words ever could, and when the sound of John shuffling about the house was no longer audible, Thomas opened his arms in unison with Angelica rushing forward to find herself inside his embrace. Her eyes were screwed tightly shut, trapping the silvery tears she refused to shed, nevertheless she didn't have quite enough control to prevent her chest from heaving with jerky shudders as she bit back sobs of defeat.

It was very different from the last time they had spoken: then, there had been hope, while now there was none, and she _needed_ to be held.

Jefferson found he couldn't stand to see the woman who had demonstrated such strength reduced to such a pitiful state. He closed his eyes and brought his chin to rest on her head, teasing his hands gently through her curls in a way he knew soothed her. "I'm sorry, Angelica. That was - I _did_ try, you realize that, don't you?" There was a note of desperation in his words: if he didn't have the power to keep her with him, he had to be sure she knew just how much he had tried to change the course of fate.

He felt her nod. He didn't expect a reply, but she was always capable of surprising him. There was only flat, empty deflation in her voice as she resigned herself to the inescapable fact, "You tried, and it wasn't enough. So I must go, and we must live with the consequences." _I should have learned the first time round how foolish and painful it is to fall in love. Well, I won't make this mistake again._

There was nothing more to be said or done. The one thing left to do was to comfort each other, fully aware that these were among the last moments they would spend alone together, and to make their peace with the unfortunate reality.

After all, as per usual, Angelica was very correct about what their plan of action had to be.


End file.
